#balde protection services

[gum-iie]

first crack

[rowarn]

SURPRISE, SURPRISE !

john "soap" mactavish / reader – 9.3k sale of a lifetime mini series !

tags: smut, developing relationship, virginity for sale trope, protective!soap, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader, mean!soap? or maybe just intense!soap, soap is NOT beginner-friendly

cw: loss of virginity, soap's filthy mouth, fingering, multiple orgasms, wet&messy, sloppy blowjob, cum facial, squirting, crying during sex?/dacryphilia, consent check bc johnny is a GOOD MAN, intense heated sex to sex with feelings, cunnilingus, corruption kink if u squint, multiple rounds, sloppy sex tbh

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It’s not like it’s hard to find someone to sell your virginity to, men come out of the woodwork offering you the money. It’s no problem at all to set up a little meeting and get to know them before you’re whisked away to a bedroom.

At least, that’s how it should be. 

The problem was there seemingly was always something that got in the way. Or rather…someone.

Soap, in fact. 

or.

After continuously getting in the way of your attempts to sell your virginity, you finally let yourself fall into bed with him instead.

You couldn’t believe you wound up here. You always thought it would happen in some sweet way. A long-time boyfriend or girlfriend, happy and in love. You’d snuggle up afterwards and be told how good you were.

But no, instead you became swamped in debt and ended up on the verge of eviction even though you were living in the cheapest apartment you could find that wasn’t in an area that would get you stabbed for stepping outside. You needed money fast and you had one thing that plenty of perverts would pay for; your virginity. It’s not your most crowning moment in life but as they say, you gotta do what you gotta do. 

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself so you don’t crumble under the shame of it all. 

When the chair across from you suddenly gets yanked out, feet scraping obnoxiously across the floor, making you nearly jump out of your skin. The man who sits down looks nothing like the picture he sent and you internally groan. He looks much older than you, no doubt in his mid 40’s, balding, and graying hair. You wouldn’t mind an older man if he were a little more…attractive. Sure, maybe that’s a bit shallow of you but fuck, it’s your virginity you’re giving away. You should be allowed to be picky with the man you choose! Under normal circumstances you would be so why not now?

Then again, this isn’t exactly normal circumstances was it?

You pick up the glass of the strongest drink you could handle that you ordered at the bar while waiting and downed it in one deep gulp. You gave the man a very fake smile and he grinned back, the sleazy sight making your stomach turn. 

You were going to need a lot more alcohol. 

The evening turned into night and you’re feeling the effects of the alcohol. Your ‘date’ doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest as you drink, if anything he seems elated. That thought makes you curl your lip in disgust. 

“So,” he starts when you finally lean back in your chair, having had your fill of alcohol for the night, “Shall we move this along? My place or yours?”

“You got the money you promised?” you ask, raising a brow, unsure if you sounded as drunk to him as you did to yourself.

“In my car,” he responds, grin sitting irritatingly lopsided on his ugly face, “Got it all ready for you. After services are rendered, of course.”

Anxiety coils in your stomach at the mention of what you have to do to get the money. It’s a lot of money and that makes your palms sweaty – you need it. You feel like there’s eyes on you from behind, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. When you turn to look around, there’s no one paying any attention to you. Everyone in the bar was having a nice time. You wish you were one of them. 

“Let’s get out here,” the man grins, “I am just achin’ to get my hands on you.”

He stands up but you find yourself rooted to your seat. Your entire body feels tense, you can’t find it in yourself to stand up. You don’t want to go with the guy, you decide. Your fight or flight activates with terrifying speed, alerting you of the danger you’re in. Though you’re not exactly sure what danger that is just yet.

“I think…” you start and the guy heaves a big sigh.

“Don’t tell me you’re backin’ out?” he grumbles, not bothering to mask his irritation, “After I came all this way? That’s awfully rude of you.”

“I just don’t think I want to–” he groans, embarrassingly loud.

You feel the eyes of nearby patrons on you and your cheeks burn under the scrutiny. Shame bubbles up inside you at the thought of them finding out what exactly was going on between the two of you. 

“Let’s go,” he snaps, his anger bubbling to the surface as he rounds the table and grabs hold of your arm.

You don’t bother fighting back as he yanks you to your feet, instead leveling him with a fierce glare. You don’t want to make a scene in front of all these people so you plan to let him drag out outside where you can really give him a piece of your mind before hopefully coming back inside and peacefully getting drunk alone.

But a sudden, growling voice has both of you freezing in place, “I don’t think you’re goin’ anywhere.”

Your eyes fall upon a man, standing tall and confidently. He has a mohawk, brilliant blue eyes and handsome features. Upon first glance, you could immediately tell he was in the military based on his posture alone. He was intimidating, broad and well-built.

“Hey, dude, why don't you mind your own fuckin’ business,” your ‘date’ snarled, yanking you harshly towards him.

You felt your eye twitch in irritation but your drunken brain was too slow to react properly. You were still hung up on the appearance of this rather good looking man. 

“This is my business,” the stranger said, Scottish accent thick as he took two big strides over to the both of you, “Why don't you just leave quietly so things don't have to get ugly?” 

Your ‘date’ stares the strange man down for a few seconds, taking a glance at you before kissing his teeth and ripping his hand off of you. 

“You ain't worth this shit,” he huffed, stomping off into the crowd. You could hear the bell over the door ring, announcing his final departure from the scene.

“Well, he was just a dandy fellow,” your rescuer jokes, a crooked grin settling on his face. His shoulders relaxed and he held his hand out, “Name’s Soap. How about I walk you home?” 

“That'd be great,” you responded, feeling your stomach starting to roll as the alcohol settled. You knew you were going to be stuck with your head over the toilet bowl soon and you'd rather be in the comfort of your apartment for that. 

“Let’s get a move on then,” he waved forward for you to lead the way. 

The crisp outside air had you sighing happily. You hadn't realized how hot you were in there but now that the light breeze brushed against your skin, you noticed how you had begun to sweat. 

“So you’re military, huh?” you ask, leading him in the direction of your apartments “Soap.” 

He chuckles, “You caught me.” 

You smile, “It's kind of hard to miss, no offense.” 

“None taken,” he assures, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “What were you doin’ with a piece of shite like that? Was he your boyfriend?” 

You sputter, “No! Nothing like that. I just…had a deal with him, that's all. I called it off and he got pissed. I'm sorta pissed at myself. Just missed out on a fuck ton of money.” 

Soap’s brows raise, “What kind of deal?” 

Your drunken brain forgets all about the fact such a deal should be kept quiet. Your mouth opens before you can stop yourself, “My virginity for his money. But I’m not like a prostitute or anything!” 

He holds his hands up as surrender when you get defensive at the shocked look on his face, “You need money that bad?”

“You have no idea,” you sign, pinching the bridge of your nose at the mere thought of your money troubles, “I never do this. You know? I-I mean obviously…with the virginity and all. But-!”

“I’m not judgin’ you,” he assures, “Hard times. But you should be careful. Lot’s of dangerous characters out there.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, shrugging your shoulders as you come to a stop, “This is my place.”

“Right,” he mutters, “Let me give you my number.”

“For what?” you sputter, watching him pull out his wallet.

“Just in case,” he smiles, “I doubt anyone really knows what you’re dealin’ with right? I do. So if you’re ever in any trouble,” he hands you a business card, “Give me a call.”

You take the card and look it over. It’s got his name and military rank but not much else. You raise a brow, “Why do you have a business card on you?”

He chuckles, waving his hand flippantly, “Just ‘cause. I’ll see you around, darlin’.”

“Yeah,” you smile, stowing the card away in your pocket, “Thanks for walking me home, Soap.”

He stands outside of your place, waiting until you’re safely inside and shutting the door. When you peek out the window, you see him walking off in the direction that you had come from. You smile and go about getting ready for bed, grateful that you’re not feeling that awful nauseous pit in your stomach you had earlier.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re still dressed in your clothes and you have no recollection of having laid down the night before. You groan, your head throbbing in your skull as you sit up. 

You stumble your way to the bathroom, grimacing at the sight of yourself in the mirror. You take the time to start the shower and strip yourself, determined to scrub the grime from last night off of your body. 

By the time you step out, you’re feeling like a brand new person. You stretch your arms over your head and work on drying yourself off. Wrapping your towel around your body, gather your clothes in your arms, and trudge back into your bedroom. 

You look through the pockets of your jeans from yesterday, pulling out various coins and candy wrappers that you remember snacking on in the car to ease your nerves. You finally pull out the last thing – the business card Soap had given you last night. 

It all floods back to you, and you find yourself pulling your phone out, opening it to make a new contact under the name Soap.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, still wrapped in your towel, you shoot him a text.

“Hi Soap, remember me? You walked me home last night! I was just wondering if I could take this as a business inquiry?”

You aren’t sure where the burst of confidence came from. Last night, you would have never even thought to ask him such a thing. But the fact your plans fell through last night with that pig of a man, you kind of had no other choice at this point. 

And luckily for you, Soap texted back almost immediately.

“Sure, darlin’. We can consider it a business inquiry.”

Jackpot, you think. Not only is he very good looking and nice – if he has the money, then you can’t think of anyone better to sell your ‘goods’ to. 

He’s perfect.

Turns out, Soap is more than ready to meet up. Not at a bar, you’re thrilled, but at an actual restaurant. It almost feels like a real date!

You have the opportunity to dress yourself up and feel pretty. It feels so much better than meeting up with that guy at the dingy bar. Your nerves are almost non-existent. 

You still have that jittery feeling everyone gets when they’re going to be going out with someone new. 

But this isn’t actually a date, you have to tell yourself, as you get into your car to drive to the restaurant. It’s a meeting.

When you walk in, you’re greeted with the heavenly smell of food and what you can only deduce as something akin to mint. It’s a lovely restaurant, tablecloths and wine glasses everywhere. 

You look around the room before you spot him, sitting at a table in the far back nursing a glass of water. You make your way there, coming to a slow stop in front of the table. He looks up, blue eyes widening at the sight of you before he jumps to his feet. 

“You made it,” he says, a smile growing on his lips. 

He rounds the table and pulls your chair out, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Thank you,” you say as he pushes you in a bit before returning to his own seat. 

Soap situates his elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands as he gazes across at you. You feel your cheeks burn underneath his intense gaze, not able to gain the courage to look directly at him.

A waiter comes by, depositing a basket of fresh, buttered bread on your table, letting you know he’ll be around in a moment to collect your orders. You offer him a polite smile as he vanishes, acutely aware that Soap is still staring right at you. 

“Why are you…” you clear your throat, finally looking at him. 

“You look lovely,” he says, a smile growing on his face when you become more bashful, “You’re truly breathtaking, has anyone ever told you that before?”

You can feel how hot your cheeks are and you resist the urge to reach up and pat them in an attempt to cool them down. You’re at a loss for words, no clue what to say in response to that. You hadn’t been told anything like that before, actually. Nor has anyone ever looked at you with such infatuated intensity like he is right now. 

Thankfully, the waiter arrives to relieve you of this immense pressure. Pulled from his devoted admiration, Soap orders first before you put your own order in. 

Left alone once again, you and Soap fall into an easy conversation. You’re surprised by how nice it is to talk to him, he’s open and funny. He tells you about his buddies in the military and about how he goes out to drink every weekend with some guy named Kyle and that he thinks his buddy Ghost’s jokes are just the worst abomination on Earth. 

You get so lost in talking to him, you don’t even realize how much time has passed. Your food arrives and the table finally falls quiet. 

You both get lost in eating your meals. Soap finishes his glass of wine and leans back in his seat with a content sigh. When you finish your own plate, you do the same. The chair creaks underneath the shift of weight and your eyes meet his. 

You wait to see if he’ll say something. But he just continues to stare at you, drifting from your eyes and down the rest of your body that’s not hidden by the table. 

“So, should we get out of here?” you finally find yourself asking, burying any embarrassment deep down, “Your place or mine?”

Soap seems to falter suddenly, crooked smile slipping off of his face, “Listen, darlin’...I-I don’t actually want to…you know…”

Your cheeks burn a little and you shrink in on yourself where you sit, “Oh! Well, that’s fine. I-It’s just that you said it was an inquiry so…I assumed.”

Soap shakes his head, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours, “I know. I told you that just so I could see you. I’m just worried about you, darlin’.”

“You want to talk me out of it,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat again, “I appreciate your concern, Soap. But I’m really at the end of my rope here. This is my very last resort, you understand?”

“But you shouldn’t have to-!” you pull your hand out from underneath his and stand.

“I know,” you shrug, “I’m only doing what I can with my circumstances. I appreciate you taking the time to see me and let me know you’re worried. I’ll see you around, okay?”

You leave him behind at the table and make your way back to your car. As you sit, engine idling, the disappointment bubbles up within you. Soap is probably the absolute best you could have gotten in a situation like this. But, it’s clear now that you’re going to have to find a new guy. 

You just hope you don’t walk right into the clawed talons of some unknown serial killer or something. 

The thought sends shivers down your spine as you make your way back home.

So begins the process of finding a new person to get the money from. 

It’s not like it’s hard to find someone to sell your virginity to, men come out of the woodwork offering you the money. It’s no problem at all to set up a little meeting and get to know them before you’re whisked away to a bedroom. 

At least, that’s how it should be. 

The problem was there seemingly was always something that got in the way. Or rather…someone.

Soap, in fact. 

Around every turn, he was there to intercept the meeting you had with a man. 

A terribly boring man named Charles; Soap showed up at the bar you met at. The surprisingly young guy you weren’t even sure had enough money for his own monthly rent, Brandon; Soap was there. Justin, the doctor that lowkey gave you the creeps; Soap was there too. 

Every single time, the Scot would sit himself at the table and run the guy off, leaving you no choice but to go home alone and moneyless. 

You’re getting angrier with every passing day and before you know it, you’re calling him up and asking him to meet you. 

The second you lay your eyes on him, you’re marching right up to him.

“What the hell is your problem, Soap?!” you cry, practically nose to nose with him as you glare.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he holds his hands up in mock surrender, “Don’t know what I did to get you so wound up but-”

“You know exactly what you’ve done!” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “Why do you keep getting in my way?”

“That’s a mean thing to say to someone,” he responds lightheartedly. 

But then your glare wipes the smile off of his face and he sighs, running a hand through his mohawk. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocking anxiously back and forth on his heels as he seems to think over his next words carefully.

“I’m just lookin’ out for you, darlin’,” he assures, “This…isn't safe, what you’re doin’. You could get into somethin’ real serious. I just…want to make sure you’re safe.”

You deflate and sigh, “I already told you, Soap. I appreciate your concern but…”

Suddenly, he surges forward, big, rough hands cupping your cheeks as he pulls your lips to his. You gasp, hands resting against his chest as you allow yourself to melt into the kiss. 

When he pulls back, he seems almost nervous, “I wanted to kiss you really badly the first night I saw you.”

“So you like me?” you ask softly, not taking your hands off of his chest.

He reaches up, wrapping one of his hands around yours, “I’m afraid so.”

“Soap…” you start but he interrupts you.

“Johnny,” he says, “Call me Johnny.”

“Johnny,” you correct yourself, feeling your cheeks burn at the positively giddy look on his face, “I don’t know if…this…” you gesture between the two of you, “Is a good idea…with what I’m dealing with.”

His brows furrowed and a frown lines his lips. You find yourself wishing you could wipe the solemn look right off his face – it doesn’t suit him, “Just give me a chance, yeah? That’s all I ask of you.”

You sigh, “Okay, Johnny.”

You’re not sure why you gave in so easily to him. But the bright look returns to his eyes again and you find yourself feeling lighter. 

He steps back, slipping his fingers in between yours. He tugs you in his direction to follow him and you do, heart skipping in your chest as you look at your hand wrapped up in his. 

You haven’t been in a relationship in a very long time so this giddy feeling wasn’t one that you got to feel very often. 

Sooner than you’d like, he’s slipping his hand from yours to open the door to an apartment complex for you. You step inside and make your way down the hallway, tailing close behind him up to a door on the first floor – apartment 108. 

“It’s not much,” he gives you that charming, crooked smile as he opens the door.

“It’s better than my place,” you joke as you toe your shoes off.

“Have you had anything to eat?” he asks, helping you out of your jacket before hanging it on the rack by the door. You shake your head and he nods, “I’ll order us somethin’. Go ahead and make yourself at home.”

You watch him disappear into the kitchen as you look around his flat. It’s a modest apartment, a bit bare but there’s little bits of Johnny scattered around the place. There were picture frames on the walls and on different surfaces. The couch was navy blue and looked well loved. 

“Here’s some water,” he says, startling you as he comes back into the living room, “I ordered us some food, wasn’t sure what you liked so I guessed.”

You chuckle, taking a seat on the couch, “I don’t mind.”

“I’m not really,” he chuckles, sounding nervous, “Good at this.”

“Well,” you sink into the cushions, “I can’t say I am either.”

He laughs, a sweet, melodic sound that makes your cheeks flush, “Well, in that case. We can just…go with the flow.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Go with the flow.”

By the time the food arrives, you and Soap are invested in watching a random season of The Bachelorette. Neither of you could decide so you looked online to find a wheel to spin to decide your fate for you. 

“Ugh,” Soap groans, “Can’t believe she’s goin’ on about how dreamy this bastard is. He’s a total tool!”

You giggle, holding one of his throw pillows against your chest as you sit. You’re about to add your own two cents when the doorbell rings. 

Soap jumps to his feet, “Fuckin’ hell, I could eat a cow.”

You admire the view of him from behind when he opens the door. His tight green t-shirt hugs the dip of his waist, riding up just a bit to show a sliver of tanned skin. His shoulders look impossibly wide as he stands in the doorway to take the food, muscles rippling beneath the fabric. His jeans sit low on his hips, belt tied tightly around them. 

Fuck, he’s good looking.

He turns, grinning and holding up the bags as if to show you his spoils. He raises one dark brow curiously, as if he knows what you’d been thinking.

“So,” he coos, saddling up next to you, placing the food on the coffee table, “Did you enjoy the view?”

You squeak, “I don’t think it’s polite to call out someone for looking…”

He cocks his head to the side and chuckles, leaning down to grip your chin, “Mind if I kiss you?”

“Now you’re asking?” you respond, breathless as you look at his lips coming closer and closer to yours.

“Aye,” he breathes. 

You nod and his lips are against yours in an instant. He supports his weight by placing his hands on the back of the couch. You have to crane your neck back to be able to kiss him but having him over top of you like this is exhilarating. 

You know you should stop before you get too carried away but you can’t seem to bring yourself to break away from him. Your attraction to this man is palpable and all consuming. 

Against your better judgment, you let him push you down, back against the cushions so he can crawl onto the couch. One knee on one side of you, he keeps one foot on the floor to straddle you without crushing you under his weight. But you wish that he would, fuck. 

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers slipping through the short hairs of his mohawk. He sighs against your lips, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, just pinning you down so he can deepen the kiss. 

You find yourself tugging at his shirt, edging it up and up until he’s forced to pull away.

“Are you sure?” he asks, blue eyes swallowed by the black of his pupils when he meets your gaze. 

You nod, “Want you, Johnny.”

“I’ll give you all of me,” he promises, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. 

It feels like the air evaporates from your lungs at the sight of him. He’s built, muscles rippling underneath a layer of fat – a man who is built for pure strength. His tanned skin is littered with tattoos here and there and hair speckles over his chest and stomach, a thick happy trail disappearing under his jeans. Which are tented with how his hardened cock presses against the fabric, desperate to be released. 

Your hand slips down the planes of his chest and down his tummy, cupping his erection. It twitches and kicks beneath your touch and pulls a groan from him. 

He reaches out, wrapping his hand around your wrist and bringing your hand to his lips where he places a kiss upon your palm. 

“Strip yourself, baby,” he orders, “Wanna see that pretty body.”

He sits back on his heels, watching your every movement as you slip your shirt off and shimmy your pants down your hips. 

When you stop, he realizes you're not going to take your panties off so he quickly does it for you. His thumbs hook into the band and yanks them down, making you squeal as the force jostles you. 

Soap chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his hands eagerly cup your breasts. You sigh at the contact, arching your back to press more into his touch. 

His kisses all over your chest, leaving no spot untouched, until he can pop one of your nipples in his mouth. You whimper, fingers sliding appreciatively through his mohawk while his other hand slips between your thighs. 

You easily part them, nearly panting by the time his fingers slip between your folds. You're already wet and sticky, drooling all over yourself with slick he uses to circle your clit. 

Your hips twitch as the first feeling of his rough fingers on the little bud. You cry out, tugging on his hair as he switches his mouth to give your other nipple proper attention. 

You arch your hips, his fingers sneaking down to prod at your entrance. With a glance at your face to make sure you're okay with it, he slides one in. 

There's a loud squelch when it sinks in to the last knuckle and you whine in embarrassment. 

He can't resist commenting, “So wet.” 

You whimper, lightly slapping his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckles, leaning up to press his lips against yours as he carefully works you open on that one finger. He presses and prods against your walls, waiting for you to relax so he can slip another one inside you — really prepare you for his cock. 

He presses against your g-spot and it rips a heavenly sound from your lips that only encourages him to do it again. You get wetter and wetter, throbbing and clenching around his middle finger. 

When he decides you're ready, he introduces a second finger. His ring finger easily fits in right alongside his middle. 

“There you go,” he praises, unable to resist looking down to see where his fingers are buried inside you, “That's it, baby, look at you go.” 

You gasp, eyes rolling back in your head when he adjusts his hand. His palm cups over your clit, the angle letting him really grind the tips of those digits right against that gooey little spot inside you. 

He watches the way you cream his fingers, milky colored slick dripping down his knuckles. It makes his mouth water. 

The movements rub his palm over your clit, stimulating the tender little bud and driving you closer and closer to the edge. You cry out, moaning and wailing the tighter that cord winds in your tummy. 

You clench and pulse against his fingers, a signal that you're going to cum for him. He works even harder, diligently worshiping your precious cunt until you toss your head back and sob. 

Your body trembles, thighs twitching in time to your walls squeezing around him. He moans with you, watching your pretty body in the throes of pleasure. 

When it becomes too much, you weakly reach down and bat his hand away. He slips his fingers out, watching you clamp your thighs shut. 

As you lay there panting and collecting yourself, he pops his cum-covered fingers into his mouth. He moans at your taste, slipping his tongue between them to catch every single drop of sweet cum he can get. 

By the time he finishes off the delicacy, you're watching him with lidded eyes and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. 

“More?” he asks, a crooked grin on his face. You nod and he chuckles, “That looked like a good fuckin’ orgasm. Sure you can handle more?”

“If I can't,” you whisper, sitting up to tug at his belt, “You can make me.”

“Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to help you open his pants, “Want me to make you take it, baby? Make you cum on my cock until you can't even think?”

“Please, Johnny,” you whimper, not tearing your eyes off the sight of him stripping himself bare. 

His cock was fat and heavy, a thick patch of hair scattering the base with thick, full balls to match. You felt your mouth fill with saliva at the sight of his hand wrapped around his big cock, stroking himself languidly until enough precum had dripped out to slick himself up. 

“Let me hear it again, doll,” his eyes are heavy lidded as he looks at you laid out beneath him, breathless and sweating from the orgasm he’d worked out of you.

“Please, Johnny,” you whisper, needily reaching your hands out towards him. 

“Shit,” he grunts, “Alright.” 

He scoots closer to you, spreading your legs open for him. Your sticky folds part, exposing your swollen, sensitive clit and clenching hole that’s still drooling your creamy release. 

He slips the tip of his cock through the gooey mess, tapping it meanly against your little bud. Your knees flinch at the stimulation and your jaw drops open when he starts to push inside. 

It burns and you arch your hips away instinctively from the pain. He slips out and curses.

“You gotta relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles, hoisting your hips into his lap with an iron grip. 

“Can’t,” you pitifully whimper. 

Soap clicks his tongue, purses his lips and lewdly spits on your clit. You whine, hands covering your face when he uses his cockhead to smear it all over. 

When he starts to push in again, the burn starts but a rough thumb finds your clit. 

“Shh,” Soap soothes you, watching as the furrow in your brows vanishes. 

He works your clit in tiny circles as he carefully saws his cock in and out of your tight hole, inching a little bit more in every time. Your body grows pliant and soft, slumping against the couch until he finally buries himself to the hilt. 

“Thaaaaat’s it,” he praises, still rolling your hard clit under his thumb, “Good fuckin’ job. Take your reward, sweetheart.” 

He remains completely stuffed inside you, grinding his hips up just a little until he prods at that gooey little spot inside you. His thumb continues to swirl around your clit and he watches your eyes grow wide, a grin stretching across his face.

“C-Cummin’-!” you manage to gasp before you throw your head back. 

He groans, jaw falling open as he works you through the orgasm, rubbing your clit to ease you through every pleasurable wave. It’s only when you reach down, grabbing his wrist to stop him that he ceases. 

“Fuck,” you pant, pupils blown wide as he looks at you coming down. 

“Feels good cumming on cock, huh, sweetheart?” he asks, once again wearing that crooked grin on his face. 

You nod your head, still too fucked out from your orgasm to properly formulate words. He chuckles, carefully pulling back until only the thick head of him remains nestled inside. With a swift, experienced roll of his hips, he stuffs every single inch right back in. 

You wail, grappling haphazardly against his shoulders for stability as he starts to really fuck you. He punches so deep, makes you feel him in your tummy. The friction burns and feels incredible at the same time. 

It feels so fucking good that you can’t stop any of the sounds that are forced from your lungs with every mind-numbingly pleasurable thrust of his cock. You’re soaking him, dripping all creamy down his cock in a way he knows you’ve never done before. No way your own fingers could make you cream like this and he doubts you’ve ever sat this pretty cunt on any stupid toys. 

He groans, grinding against your clit every time he reaches as deep as he can, “Not gonna have shit to sell now, huh?”

You whimper, shaking your head as you stare at him wide eyed, drool dripping over your lips because you can’t close your mouth for even a second. There’s no way for you to quiet yourself, you’re loud, you wear every pleasurable experience on your face with no ability to hide or perform. Every reaction is real and authentic and he loves it. 

“Don’t think I can ever let you go after this, sweetheart,” he coos, slowing his thrusts so you can focus on looking at him, “That alright with you?”

You swallow thickly and shakily nod your head, “O-Only want you, J-Johnny.”

He snorts, sharp canines glinting at the predatory grin he gives you, “You only sayin’ that because you’re got your cunt stuffed full of my cock?”

You whimper at the punishing thrust he gives you, the pain of him battering your cervix making you tremble, “N-No! L-Liked you when I first saw y-you. I-I swear, Johnny. Please!”

“Alright, quit fuckin’ beggin’,” he snaps, leaning out of your reach, making you whine. 

He takes a mean grip of your hips, using just his strength to yank you onto his cock like a fleshlight. You wail, head tossed back against the couch as he really fucks you. Every thrust is too deep but gives you nothing but pleasure. He grinds against your clit every time he sinks in, making sure to also aim for the gooey little spot that gets you creaming around him. His fat, heavy balls slap against your ass every time he stuffs that cock into you. 

It’s all just too much. He should know better, really, treating a little virgin pussy so meanly. You’re too new to this, don’t know how to take such cruel, deep strokes. You’re squeezing tight, staring at him with wide, glassy eyes. He can’t stop the moan that tears from his throat at the sight of tears trickling down your cheeks – proof that this is all too much. 

But he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Not when he feels how tight you’re squeezing around him, how much wetter you’re getting as you get closer and closer to what he knows is going to be the best damn orgasm of your life. 

“Cum,” he whispers, shocked at how fucked his voice is from pleasure, “Cum right fuckin’ now.”

“W-Wait, Johnny-!” you wail, feet kicking as you fight against his iron-tight hold on you, “I-It’s…It feels w-wrong!”

“Stop fuckin’ runnin’,” he snarls, easily pinning you to the couch. He folds you up, knees to your chest as he presses his body weight down on you. He can feel the air being forced out of your lungs under the weight, “I said cum.”

You open your mouth, wanting to say something. But you can’t get the words you, only whimpers and tears. He doesn’t care what you had to say, though. All he cares about is feeling your tight little cunt cum around him so he can have his own orgasm. 

You still try to fight him from how intense the build up is. You slap against his shoulders, squirm and try to kick him off but he easily holds you down. Even as you fight, you never once tell him to stop. 

After a few, long seconds, he feels it. 

Fuck, does he feel it. 

You gush. It splatters all over his cock and stomach. He curses, slamming into you over and over, every thrust forcing another squirt out of you. You’re sobbing, fat tears falling down your cheeks and you’re moaning the prettiest damn symphony that has ever blessed his ears. 

The orgasm is too much, it’s intense and all consuming. You can’t come down, every time he stuffs you full, your orgasm continues to wash through you. 

“J-Johnny-!” you sob, “N-No more!”

“Fuck!” he snarls, cutting his own orgasm off when he pulls out of you. 

He pushes himself off of you and you curl in on yourself, softly sniffling and shaking in a little ball. He licks his dry lips at the sight of you covered in your own squirt. 

“C’mere, darlin’,” he coos, panting and breathy, hoisting you up and into his lap. 

He cradles you in his arms as you’re wracked with trembles and twitches, your nerves zapping through your body from the pleasure. He shushes you, cupping your chin to make you look at him. Your eyes are red-rimmed and wet from your tears, pupils blown out wide. He clicks his tongue and wipes his thumb underneath to swipe some away. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos, “Just get some breaths. Got a little overwhelmed, huh?”

You nod, slumping against him with a sigh when you finally feel like you’re back in your body. Johnny is solid and sweaty beneath you, warm and comfortable as he cups the back of your head and strokes his hand over your body. 

“I-I’ve never um…” you clear your throat, cheeks burning hot.

“Knocked your damn socks off, huh?” he jokes, a crooked smile on his face. 

You giggle, endorphins still rushing through your body. You shift on his lap and catch the pinch in his brow before he can school his expression back into place. You look down, biting your lip at the sight of his cock still hard and twitching, smeared in a creamy mess of your cum.

“Ah, it’ll go down on its own, darlin’,” he assures, no irritation to be seen or heard from him. 

One look in his eyes shows you that he’s perfectly prepared to go without his well-earned orgasm – just for you. 

But you don’t want that, you realize. He had made you feel incredible, given you an orgasm that you’ve never been able to experience in your life. You doubt anyone else will ever be able to make you do it again. 

“I-I want to help, Johnny,” you whisper, trying to swallow down your nerves. 

His brows raise in interest, “What did you have in mind?”

You slide off of his lap and slowly sink to your knees. You place your shaky hands on his thighs to steady yourself, looking up at him with wide, too-innocent eyes. 

He lets his head fall back against the back of the couch, a breathless, “steamin’ blood Jesus,” following. 

“I-I’ve never done this,” you confess, though he’s not surprised, “Is that okay?”

“Is that-” he laughs softly, “darlin’ any man who isn’t appreciative of you willin’ to swallow his cock is a man you kick in the balls, got that?”

You giggle, nerves dissipating as he wraps a hand around the base of him. You scoot a bit closer when he holds it out for you, waiting for you to do what you please with it. Your tongue falls from your mouth and Soap feels like he’s suspended in air as he watches you get closer and closer to the sensitive, leaky tip. 

The first contact feels better than he could have imagined. He’d gotten so fucking close earlier, buried in your cunt as you came around him, squealing for him and all. He knows it won’t take much to send him over the edge this time. 

Perfect practice for you, he thinks. You won’t have to be on your knees for too long or do any real work to get him to cum for you. 

You’re clumsy and it’s clear you’re unsure about the taste of his cock. It’s not just his precum, it’s your own cum mixed with it. He can’t blame you for being unsure.

He reaches down, a soft, gentle hand resting atop your head to encourage you. When you look up, he smiles so softly at you that it makes your heart jump in your chest. You suddenly feel like you’re the center of his world. Those baby blues never once waver from you as you sloppily lick and slurp on the tip of him. 

“Take a little more,” he whispers, lashes fluttering and chest rising as he takes a deep breath when you eagerly follow his directions. 

Your pretty lips stretch around the girth of him, taking just the head inside your hot little mouth. The flared glans are greeted by your curious tongue, making him whimper when you lick. Your mixed taste lingers on your tongue but you quickly grow accustomed to it. 

Feeling braver from Johnny’s unfiltered reactions, you take a little more into your mouth. Then more. And a little more until you suddenly choke, gagging around him. You pull your head off, sputtering and coughing a bit. 

Johnny coos at you, thumbing away some drool on your chin, “Not too deep, darlin’. You’re not ready for that.”

You hum, not at all discouraged from taking him back into your mouth again. You don’t take him as deep, accepting that you have your limit – for now, judging by Johnny’s subtle promise of more to come. 

“Just suck, watch your teeth,” he whispers, not caring about the way his voice cracks, “Move your head like this. Go at your own pace, alright?”

You lazily blink up at him, hoping he understands your agreement. You do as you’re told, folding your lips over your teeth to keep them away from his sensitive skin. Bobbing your head feels awkward and it makes your jaw ache but the sounds Johnny begins to make makes you temporarily forget about your own discomfort. 

His eyes are rolling back in his head and he starts to stroke the rest of his cock that your mouth can’t handle yet. You can’t tear your gaze away from the sight of those thick, veiny fingers wrapped around himself, getting covered in a slick mess of your cum that he had so generously fucked out of you earlier. Drooling all over him like this only gives him more of a mess to work with. It’s gross, frothy and dripping down your chin and neck, slicking up your tits.

It makes your cunt tingle selfishly. You think you could make yourself cum, slip your hand between your legs and stroke your clit until you find release. But you don’t – you focus on Johnny and his pleasure. He’d already given you so much that you don’t want to come across as greedy by making his moment about your own pleasure. 

Johnny’s free hand grip around the back of your neck, squeezing and caressing your skin as encouragement since his mouth is too busy moaning. You take his sounds as signals, sucking and moving at whatever pace makes him cry out the loudest. 

You had no idea men like him were willing to be as loud as he was. Usually, the masculine type of guys like him would be online whining about how moaning was ‘gay’ or some stupid shit.

Johnny didn’t seem to give a fuck. If he felt good, he was going to let you know. It made you feel more at ease, like you were doing a good job even though you knew you were still clumsy and it probably didn’t feel as good as head he’s surely gotten in the past. 

But it encouraged you to work harder to please him, to earn more of those beautiful, unfiltered moans that he was so willing to give you. They were your reward for the intense ache in your jaw.

“F-Fuck,” he groans, suddenly, eyes opening from when he had closed them at some point, “I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

His words are slurred, like his brain’s oozed down to his cock, too stupid to think of anything except how heavy and full his balls felt. 

“Shit, shit, shit-!” he whimpers, an honest to god whimper, “Off, pull off!”

You do as you’re told, releasing his cock from your mouth. Strings of frothy drool connect your lips to his tip and you don’t dare break it, the sight making you clench around nothing. 

Johnny strokes his cock, another loud moan erupting from his lips as he cums. It spurts out, splattering against your cheek, making you flinch in surprise. You can see the way his balls throb in time to each rope of cum that his fat cock spits out. More splatters on your cheeks and lips and across your nose until it tapers off to slow, thick oozes that dribble over his knuckles. 

When he lets himself go, he sags against the couch, staring dazedly at the ceiling as his erection flags and grows soft. 

When he finally looks at you, you can see his eyes widen almost in alarm. He leans forward, cupping your cheek, messily swiping some of his cum off of your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles, still sounding breathless, “Didn’t think you were gonna get splashed with it.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, feeling his cum still lingering on your lips.

You can’t resist sticking your tongue out to taste it. His eyes darken at the sight of you licking up his cum. You don’t make a face of disgust like he expected, instead he catches the way your thighs clench together.

“Is that right?” he mumbles, cock twitching in interest, “Isn’t that an interesting development? You like to taste cum, sweetheart?”

You whimper when he swipes more up onto his thumb, bringing it to your lips for you to suck off, which you eagerly do. You suck his finger clean until he pulls it back out, pupils blown wide, making his blue eyes look black.

“You ever had that pretty cunt eaten before?” he asks, a predatory grin splitting across his face when you shake your head.

His hand wraps around your throat, ripping a moan out of your throat. He easily manhandles you onto your knees, tits pressed against the cushions of the couch with a nasty “stay.”

You never thought you’d enjoy being manhandled and ordered around like a dog but fuck if you’re not learning more about yourself tonight. 

Soap smacks your thighs apart, and slips his head between them. You take a glance down and nearly choke at the sight of him laying on his back, staring hungrily as you cunt drips gooey, sticky strings right onto his waiting tongue that he holds out for it. 

The sight is so fucking filthy. 

But it’s nothing compared to the sounds he makes when he gets that tongue on your cunt. He slurps between your folds, groaning at the taste of your cum on his taste buds. He swallows your clit, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks. 

You’re already a moaning mess, crying out into the cushions which you claw desperately at. Your eyes roll up into your head when you feel him pop your clit out of his mouth, spit on it, and then slurp it right back up. 

He eats so fucking dirty, it’s disgusting and sloppy. But it makes you rut your hips against him. 

Soap chuckles, pulling back to watch you work your hips over nothing before you realize he stopped and whine.

“Fuck yourself on my tongue then,” he whispers, earning him a relenting whimper in response. 

You can feel the flat of his tongue, hot and thick, against your clit. The little bud’s so hard, swollen and pulsing against the muscle. 

With his order ringing in the back of your head, you clumsily hump his tongue. You drag your sensitive little clit back and forth along the surface of his tongue. It feels so fucking good that you actually sob. The sound tears from your chest and makes his cock twitch. 

You rut faster and faster, not caring about the way you’re messing up his face when you move too high or too low. You know there’s a mess on his chin, cheeks and nose but you don’t care. His tongue is there for you, for you to cum all over. He’s so good to you, holding it out just so you can use him as you please. 

As you grow closer and closer, your moans change in pitch and he suddenly reaches up, stilling you. You groan, an irritated sound that makes him laugh. You frown at that but it’s quickly wiped away when he grips your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so he can stuff his tongue into your creaming cunt. 

You shout, sitting straight up in surprise, your weight falling onto his face. He moans at that, rewarding you by pushing his tongue even deeper. It feels odd, different from his fingers and his cock. It’s soft and almost slimy, not long enough to quite reach any pleasurable place. 

But just the fact that he’s got his tongue buried in your pussy is enough to have you clenching on it. He watches you through heavy lids, waiting to see what your next move is. 

He’s enjoying your little show, he must admit. He likes seeing a sweet, clumsy virgin experience these things for the first time. He likes the fact he’s breaking you in, tearing your walls down and seeing you lost in mind-numbing pleasure. 

You surprise him by resuming the motion of your hips. You hump back and forth, riding his tongue like it’s a little toy just for you. And he supposes it is, he’d be a toy for you if you so wished. He’s addicted to this sweet, creamy little pussy and he’s not afraid to admit it. 

You reach down, swirling your fingers around your sticky clit. There’s lewd clicks that accompany the movements along with the sound of his tongue sliding in and out of your hole. 

You meet his gaze, he’s staring so intensely at you. It spurs you on, makes you fuck yourself on his face more confidently. 

You tap your fingers against your clit, slapping the little bud and pulling your fingers back to show Soap the sticky strings of slick that connect them to your cunt. He can’t stop himself from reaching down, wrapping his hand around his cock, jerking himself off to the sight of you smacking your clit and fucking his tongue. 

You’re pulsing around it, dripping down his face and mixing with the drool that's pooling out of his mouth. His face is a mess, it drips down his cheeks and under his neck. He’s sure there’s a pool beneath his head that will need to be cleaned up and fuck, he’ll lick it from the floor if you let him. Just as long as he gets to taste you again. 

You gasp, tossing your head back. His cock fucking aches, harder than it was before and more sensitive now that he’s already had an orgasm. He knows he’s leaking, drooling sticky precum all over himself like the horny mutt he is. 

You cum spectacularly, twitching and trembling, rubbing your clit and clenching around his tongue. It’s like a reward, swallowing down your cum straight from the source. He pulls his tongue out of your hole and wraps his lips around your clit again. 

You wail, shaking and throwing yourself face down against the couch again. You try to wrench your hips away from his punishing mouth but he wraps his arms around your thighs and continues to slurp and slobber all over that tender little bud. Your eyes roll back in your head as another orgasm tears through you, far too soon after the other. It almost hurts from how sensitive you are through it, not even able to make a sound as it washes over you. 

Only when you’re left twitching and trembling does he finally relent. There’s tears falling out of your eyes and drool dribbling down your chin. The picture of fucked out.

He laughs, folding himself over your back. 

“You still with me?” he asks, kissing your shoulder.

You whimper, “Fuck, you’re so good, Johnny.”

He chuckles, “Think you can take more?”

You eagerly nod your head and he doesn’t waste any time. He sinks his cock into you in one deep thrust. You choke on a moan, arching your back so you can feel him even deeper. 

He doesn’t start slow like he did before. He knows your little cunt is fucked nice and open for him now. You’re still dazed, drunk on endorphins, any attempts to meet his thrusts are sloppy and clumsy. It’s cute so he doesn’t bother stopping you. 

“Spread your legs,” he orders you but doesn’t wait for you to do it. 

Instead, he meanly knocks them apart, opening you up even more. His balls slap against your clit and you wail, the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“There you go,” he laughs, “You liked slapping that little clit earlier. How’s this?”

“So good!” you cry, kicking your feet against the floor as pleasure washes through you. 

You feel like a live wire, every movement forcing you closer and closer to your next orgasm. Soap isn’t far behind you, too sensitive and worked up to draw it out for long. 

He clasps the back of your neck, pinning your face to the cushions as he fucks. He takes and takes, using your sticky, gooey cunt. He’s pounding into you, hips slamming against your ass and his balls slapping your clit. 

You can’t even say anything as the orgasm washes over you. He only feels it, the rhythmic clenching of your walls and the gush as you squirt. You’re silent, completely still against the couch as he saws his fat cock in and out, squirt after squirt of cum splattering all over his thighs until he inevitably reaches his own end. 

This time, he fills you up. Seats himself as deeply inside of you as he can before he moans. His cock pathetically spits only a few strings of cum but the orgasm lasts far longer, encouraged along by the clenching of your cunt as you’re coming down. Or maybe you’re still cumming, he’s not sure. 

There’s a faraway look in your eyes, a wet spot of drool underneath your cheek on the cushion of the couch. You’re panting and glistening with sweat. When he pulls out of you, you drop to sit on the floor, the measly load he had given you drooling out of your cunt as it continues to clench and throb around nothing. 

Fuck, he’s never felt so proud to fuck someone brainless before. He knows you’re gonna need a good bath and cozy arms to sleep in. 

And his are the best around, if he does say so himself. 

He kisses up your spine, curling himself around you as you finally start to come back to yourself, pliant and soft. The both of you sit there, holding one another and sharing soft kisses until he decides it’s time to move. 

He’s in no rush, though. He’s wrapped around your finger now and you’re never getting rid of him. 

do not modify, translate, repost, or use for c.ai. reblogs OK!

[lazyalani]

| Blue Lock

| When they like you

| fluffffffffff, fluffiness, just random thoughts and ideas

Ft. Rin, Sae, Nagi, Reo, Chigiri, Barou, Kunigami, Bachira, Isagi

| Blue Lock Masterlist

| Main Masterlist

RIN

Definitely tolerates you more than anyone else. This man has a patience of a lady in her worst mood during period. Let's say you aren't the best in english as most japanese are, or even as worse as bachira, he'd take time to actually try to teach you rather than wait for you to try and pronounce words that would make his ear irk. He'd even share his twin popsicles with you. And maybe, just maybe, he'd watch you fall asleep on your desk.

SAE

He'd buy you nice souvenirs from his trips. He's definitely the type to stare at one thing he passes by and thinks oh, this reminds me of them, and then proceeds to by it and gift it. He'd pass it out casual though. I don't think Sae is the type to get all flustered and overthink when he has a crush, I think he'd be chill about it. He's like, oh, i kinda like them, cool. He's the type to show it so casually you wouldn't even realize he likes you, and until he's decided to ask you out or you found out, he'd keep it that way.

NAGI

Man, I don't know. This guy's a slug and freaking dense. He wouldn't even know he likes you, and even he did he'd treat you no different than a friend. Okay, maybe a little bit more, but Nagi is the type to be effortless with everything except football. If he likes you enough, then I think he'd actually put in a little more effort into talking to you or staying awake while you talk his ears out in class. But if it's just a little admiration then there's no difference from that to being his friend.

REO

Ah, definitely talks yours ears out every damn second. Don't expect seeing him without a gift for you. He spoils you a lot. Treats you like his significant other even before he asks you out, which is not far off because obviously he can never hide what he's feeling. Everyone can see he likes you, even you. He accompanies you almost everywhere, asks your favorite everything just to bring them to you the next day, texts you day and night. How dreamy.

CHIGIRI

Lets you make silly princess comment on his hair. He doesn't get annoyed, playfully bites back on your remarks. Indulges you in your rants about fashion, skin care, hair care, make up, routines and even adds things he uses or thinks might be good. He might awkward about liking you at first, but remains casual about it and doesn't mention or think about it often. It just comes naturally as if he's talking to a friend he's comfortable with.

BAROU

Man, this one's tough. Definitely indenial at first, he wouldn't even know what he's feeling. He's not stupid, but he's also not one to think he could actually like someone since he's definitely got high standards for himself and for other people. He'd shake off the feeling at first, might even tend to be harsher with you ay times, but gradually just accepts it but swears never to mention or bring it up. Becomes more attentive to your hygiene and habits. Avoids the topic of liking someone like a plague. Never ever asks you out. (Liked but never pursued heh)

KUNIGAMI

This one's the type to get flustered when he realizes it. Gets all shy around you at first and Chigiri definitely notices and points it out. Decides to listen to Chigiri's advice to just act normal and cool because he's being too obvious. Tries not to get flustered around you but everytime he sees you it reminds him of his realization. Is definitely more protective of you when other guys are around, especially with ones like Raichi and the bald monk I forgot the name of. Acts of service type of guy.

BACHIRA

Too perceptive for his own good, sees it coming. He doesn't care whether anyone notices or not. Not the type to be shy about anythin and that includes having a crush on you. Sticks to you like a leech and talks to you 10x more. Notices your little hobbies and tries to match then so you could have something in common. I just know he's the type to do these cute little things because he just wants to enjoy things with people he likes.

ISAGI

Ah the shy-est one. Dense, indenial at first, but the ever so nosy Bachira notices and makes him realize it. Will stutter around you and get a little fidgety but pays more attention to you than ever. Helps you with even the smallest tasks like carrying things or helping making a decision and giving advices. If it's in school, he'd even offer to walk you home but then get all flustered. The sweetest.

[mikichko]

⛔ this blog is 18+ !! minors and ageless blogs please dni ⛔

have some brainrot: adoptive parents ghoap

soap and ghost who are officially out. both from the military and to their families. they don't really care about the world. respectfully, fuck those cunts

married, with a house, and a fully adopted kid. a bright, spunky, amazing little five-year-old who fits right into their little family. they love him to death. dote on him in their own special riley-mactavish way.

the problems arise once their little bairn gets enrolled in school. the first few weeks go by fine, adjustment period and all. but once he's past it, the calls start coming. and after the calls there are meetings. conversations carry on for weeks on end, with no resolution in sight.

aggressive, they call him. a distraction, says another. they use the word dangerous to describe the sweet little boy sitting just outside the door. their sweet little boy. the same one that hides behind simon's leg whenever they pass a dog that's just a tad too big on the street. who licks the back of the spatula after johnny finishes mixing color into frosting.

and it's not like they were unaware of his history. they knew his mother had been abusing substances all throughout her pregnancy. knew what the state of the home was when child protection services rescued their little boy. they were well aware of what could come from it all.

what they weren't aware of was the absolute disdain that adults, more importantly, those tasked with caring for children, would have towards him. anger and disgust directed at a child who wasn't even at fault for the circumstances that led him there. just casting him aside, labeling him as defective from the beginning without even giving him a chance.

until you pop up of course. directing a particularly nasty look at the balding man who called their boy dangerous.

"he wouldn't be reacting like that if he didn't have external factors agitating him david." you speak his name as if forming each syllable was the single most disgusting act of your entire life.

the man doesn't hesitate to snarl back at you, some lousy excuse of how the world will have plenty of external factors agitating him. he simply can't coddle a child when the world won't do the same.

you claw at the armrests, glaring at him as you push yourself forward and speak through gritted teeth, "he's a goddamn child. we are the ones tasked with prepping him for the world. how the hell do you expect him to adapt if we don't even give him the skills he needs to do that?"

baldie revs himself for another go at you but the headmistress interrupts, guiding the conversation away from your tiff. the boys don't miss how you push your glasses up your nose with your middle finger. all while holding eye contact with the bald dickhead in the tweed blazer.

the conversation carries on and unceremoniously lands on the same conclusion it always does: the behavior needs to be curbed, otherwise he won't last here much longer.

they've already reigned themselves to the fact, already looking up the other schools in their area, when you stop them, holding the door as the last staff member slips out of the room.

"mr. and mr. mactavish," soap stifles a snort, "I know for a fact that conversation was completely unhelpful. frankly, a waste of your time. but I'd like just another moment with you two if that's okay with you?"

they nod, moving to sit, but you don't follow. instead, you poke your head out the door, "hey Z! So sorry you've been waiting so long buddy. I just have to talk to your daddies for a few more minutes. that alright with you?"

that makes both of them straighten. addressing him directly, not just speaking at him, while letting him know of the situation and asking for his permission? not something they'd seen from any of the school staff before.

they hear his small "yes ma'am" through the open door and you shoot him a smile before closing it. you sit yourself down in front of them, opening up a folder, "apologies again for that lot of clowns. they seem to forget that we don't come out of the womb with the emotional regulation switch flipped on"

simon grunts but it's johnny who speaks up, "didnae know youse were running a circus here."

you snort, "definitely making fools of themselves. can't say i've any tricks to make myself look as goofy as them. but," you pause as you rifle through some papers before your eyes light up, "I do have spreadsheets and timesheets!"

you lay out two stacks in front of them, "i've been tracking Zach's behavioral changes along with what we deduce were his triggers on these sheets," you tap the left most stack of blue papers, "and his medication dosage along with the time taken here."

you fold your hands, giving them a moment to absorb the information you've dropped on them. it's meticulous and incredibly well-documented. the behavioral outburst sheets even have the times and dates for each occurrence. you've also added little notes for many of the incidents. there's a 'fuck david' that you'd tried to scribble out but were not fully successful in doing so.

ghost rubs a finger across the inky mess, "he talks to you about his fits then?"

"aye, he does sir. it takes a bit of time but we manage to work through it. usually a drink of something cold and a snuggle with something soft seems to do the trick."

"oh did ye find that out on your own? am sorry. should have sent a note," soap apologizes as he rifles through his papers.

you wave him off, "no need mister mactavish. your boy is very good at communicating. it seems that the adults here just have a hard time listening."

"now," you reach across the table handing them identical sheets, "I'm thinking that both of you want to stop these oh-so-lovely monthly chats. and this," you tap your third identical paper, "is the solution for this."

"it's a joint emotional management endeavor, carried out both at home and here at school. you and your husband would be the primary handlers at home and I'll be the handler here. it's a multi-week program with a focus on reaction handling after a triggering event and exercises he can enact when overwhelmed"

there's a bout of silence as the two of them absorb everything that you've handed them. no one else, aside from family, ever offered this kind of care and handling for their boy before. to know that there's been someone not just looking out for their baby but researching ways to help him? it stirs something in both of them.

"why're you doin' this?" ghost scratches out.

you tilt your head, "mister mactavish, i'm an educator. but above else i'm a caretaker. i'm with these children almost as much as they're with you. it's my job to help shape and mold these children into the best version of themselves they can be."

"i happen to think that little boy out there deserves a chance to show the world how good he is. don’t you think so too?”

[trashmouth-richie]

the raven told me of you

eddie x female reader

crafted from this prompt list by: @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @allthingsjoeq

summary: eddie is released after six months of being behind bars with a false identity, he was never lonely because you were there with him, until you weren’t. now, coming home to a new life with his old name granted back to him. he navigates flashbacks, and trying to settle back in with wayne in private protective seclusion, alone— or is he?

8.1k

tw: 18+ angst. fluff of a new relationship, light smut— s1, s4 canon events with reader inserted into the timeline, mentions of insanity, death, witness protection, government cover-ups etc. this could be a continuation or stand alone fic of your touch but is not necessary to read.

releasing: thursday 3/7

Owens’ worked his charms. The government covered up the mass hysteria and pinned the murders of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred on an accidental chemical reaction from arsenic, radiation and terpenoids. The results left their bones liquified from the toxic lick of acid and torqued before solidifying once again. 

  The Hawkin’s Post called it ‘a combination of sickly tainted water from the school cafeteria.’ 

  Parents were urged to have their children tested at the local clinic for extra precautions, and thankfully no one else had been affected. 

  On Thursday the Eighteenth of September, at approximately 1300 hours… an hour into quiet personal time, Mr. Edward Munson, was once again, a free man. 

  At first he thought it was possibly a mistake, a horrifying joke fed by his many delusions. But when they called him into the warden’s office, he sat across an oak desk from a tall man with a skin bald head, shining like a lightbulb.  

  He used Eddie’s full name—not the persona he was given— and gave him ten minutes to collect his belongings. It was then he came to realize that maybe he wasn’t crazy after all. 

  Six long months in the clink with his brain spinning hallucinations beyond his control he wasn’t sure if he’d come out of it without a government issued lobotomy— and in the blink of an eye, it came to an abrupt end.

  Prison was cold, unwelcoming in shades of gray coating the ceilings, walls, floors, any service imaginable. As if there was one color sanctioned to the American Prison system and gray was the less costly option. 

  Concrete was probably more pliable than his bed was. The food was impeccable— if you were a raven on a mealworm diet.  It was just shy of hell, and it made the inhabitants calloused to a helping hand or squirreling away from making friends. 

  Seven months prior, Eddie was in his prime. For the first time in his life he was happy with where he was at, school was almost over and he had a true chance of walking the stage of graduation. 

  And you, he had you. 

  Beautiful, charismatic, sweet you. 

  It was almost like he conjured you up himself with a hard roll against a plyboard table of a twenty sided dice. Mesmerizing eyes that seemed to shimmer in any light, a smile that could soften Medusa’s rocky stare. You were perfect. 

  The first time his eyes laid on you was across the cafeteria. Everyone moved with the mundane routine, but you were shining like a spotlight had been placed on you overhead. 

  Your soft skin beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Smooth as silk, and he started to wonder what would your flesh feel like in his hands…would you cower away from their roughness? 

  His mind raced, and his heart pumped firmly whenever you walked past him, you smelled like ripe fruit, warming by the sun, and Eddie began to understand why Eve was tempted so easily. 

  And so began the daily task of seeking you out. He was able to spot you like Waldo amongst the boring gray faces of every other girl. 

  You shone like a gem, a sapphire filled with the darkest of depths, and like an enthusiast to your craft, he wanted to know the breadth of your soul. 

  His gem. 

  It was by total chance that he stumbled upon you after months of stray glances. He was walking backwards, yelling to Gareth about being on time for Hellfire that night, when he bumped into something that yelped in surprise. 

  It was you. 

  Sprawled and landing hard on your butt. Papers scattered from the collision of your face mashing into a denim patchwork vest. 

  He stumbled over your feet, falling beside you in a mess of curls and cigarettes, the one between his lips still intact. Your eyes met his for the first time, and that’s all it took for him to fall head over feet, in this case Reeboks, Eddie was a goner. 

  Your smile spread a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. And your laugh? Made his knees physically weak. 

  He still didn’t know how he managed to swing it, but he charmed you into agreeing to a ride home. Conversation came easy with you. You were sweet yet comical, a bit of a smart ass. He was grinning like an idiot.

  Chatting about books, then music, he bantered back and forth, teasing on your choice of horror, astounded in your tastes— but nevermore, he was enthused, enamored. 

  Witty and shit giving, you had him wrapped around your finger before the van pulled in front of your place. A permanent dimple pecked into his cheek that wouldn’t subside no matter how hard he tried. 

  A ten digit number exchanged on lined paper was the start of the end. A corny fist pump and a pep talk on his jaunt back to the trailer park. 

  Eddie was living on cloud nine. 

  He called you that night, foregoing any dumb advice he had seen in movies or heard at school at waiting a certain amount of days or hours, he went on pure instinct alone, and almost threw up all over himself after punching the last number. 

  You answered with your name after saying a proper greeting and he stumbled over his own tongue before choking out that it was him. 

  “Sorry who?” you had teased, Eddie’s heart fell into his stomach with relief when you giggled on the other end, “are you calling to sell me some boy scout popcorn, because cheddar is my favorite… but for you I might just buy a tin of caramel.” 

  A heart laugh erupted from his trailer, loud and barking. “Boy Scouts weren’t really my thing, princess.” 

  “Ah,” you reasoned, “knots too hard?” 

  He laughed again, that damn dimple achingly prominent as he smiled through the receiver, and you swore you could hear his cheeks squeak, “something like that.” 

  An hour had passed and Eddie found himself in the snares of coiled phone cords as he wore a pattern from his bedroom to the kitchen, fiddling with things left on the counter. Even going so far as to start a load of laundry and empty the sink. 

  You too were in the trenches, living solely on the scraps of information of Eddie’s life that he tossed to you like a pigeon in a park.  

  He was smart, filled with colossal amounts of knowledge on anything from cars, to reading sheet music. He had an ear for rhythm, cocky enough to have you hum a tune so he could pick up on it, and add to it. Eddie was a closeted genius under the untamed curls. 

  “Shit— I’m talking too much, huh? " he asked after a long winded speech about a campaign he was planning for the freshman in Hellfire. “I get carried away sometimes,” he admitted with a chuckle, a ripple of embarrassment heating over his body in a wave. 

  “Not at all,” you eagerly replied, “tell me more about Kas!” 

  “Well princess, I could show you, if you wanted?” He prayed you’d say yes, to whom or what he was praying to— hewasn’t sure, just crossed fingers and pinched his eyes shut in hopes that you wouldn’t think he was some loser yanking his dick to figurines and elf lore.

  But you didn’t, you had said yes faster than he finished asking. And from there— it was history. 

  He went to bed with a spinning head and a heart wrapped in lace, sugar coated with your sweet voice in his ear, the same lopsided grin he had worn since tripping over you at school. 

  —

  Stepping out into the first breath of freedom, the sun felt heavy on his skin. It itched his arm hairs, the heat touching his neck for the first time in years since he grew out his hair. The brightness stung his eyes. 

  He had become accustomed to the hollowing sag of fluorescent lights paling his skin to almost translucency, a true dracula in the pits of a four walled hell.

  A croaked caw is loud overhead, singular— followed by a fluttering of wings, and the bend of a tree limb.

  The clothes he wore didn’t feel like him, the ripped cotton Hellfire shirt wasn’t clean coming in and wasn’t clean coming out, Shredded where the demobats feasted on him like a hotdog at a ball field. 

  His jeans stunk of decay and murky water from the gate. Caked with mud, dried several times in the days of being on the run, the jeans chafed his skin raw, gnawing on his leg hairs until they popped free, giving up the fight. 

  A manila envelope held his rings, clashing together in a melodic tone. He slotted them one by one on the correct fingers, yet they felt loose, heavy and familiar all at once. 

  He was ready to pitch the envelope into a trash bin when he felt something else in the bottom, having to rip it apart to get to whatever was inside. When the ground was littered next to his waterlogged Reeboks, and his palm held the small silver item, his eyes brimmed with tears. 

  —3

The nightly phone calls soon turned to walks around the trailer park, Eddie listening intently as you strolled around the driveway, kicking up little clouds of dirt or catching the occasional rock with the toe of your sneaker. 

  He matched your steps, learning about your passions after graduation, how you favored sweets over salty treats, and the embarrassing truth of how after your friend Barb went missing, you didn’t have any friends at school. 

  “Well, now you have me,” he chirped earnestly, dark eyes squinting in the setting sun as he knocked his elbow with yours, a smirk on his lips, “I’ll take care of ya.” 

  It was as simple as that, and the easiness of it made your nose tingle with a burn as you fought back tears at his kindness. 

  Weeks of walking with you after school round and round Forest Hills— the scenery started to change. 

  The emerald grass faded into sharp tawny weeds. Foliage turned the color of autumn and the air began to crisp and chill.

  It was then, on a windy Tuesday afternoon, that Eddie invited you into his home, he made sure to kick dirty laundry under his bed, hide the Playboys in the closet behind an old pair of shoes and empty the heaping ashtrays the night beforehand. 

  A jewel in a shit shack— you equally looked out of place and fit in with the cluttered belongings of his uncles at the same time. 

  “My castle.” he announced, bending low and holding the door open like a gentleman. 

  He showed you around the small square footage, taking less than fifteen seconds to point everything out. 

  “And that?” 

  “That’s.. my room.” 

  It was silly then, how nervous he was to let you into his space, even though during your walks you acquired everything there was to know about him. 

—

  Snow was on the ground when your after school routine of going to Eddie’s was as second nature to you as breathing. 

  You were sitting on his unmade bed atop the rumpled comforter and soft sheets, socked toes dangling from the side of the mattress. A textbook balanced in your lap, pencil between your teeth. Your eyebrows pinched in a studied strain as you tried to solve a calculus formula. 

  His voice had startled you, not sure when he had gotten up or how long he was standing at his desk, looking almost sick. 

  “Got something.. for you.. something dumb that I saw.” 

  He tried his damndest to be cavalier. But Eddie was everything but. 

  Ten dollars in quarters, more hours than he had spent in a pizza joint ever, and a hoard of tiny plastic containers from a machine holding costume jewelry, he had finally gotten what caught his eye. 

  A silver ring adorning a bat with an indigo colored stone in the center. It didn’t come close to the actual beauty you possessed but the blue stone reminded him of the way you moved through the crowd that day, like a rare gem. 

  Tired eyes focused on him, a nervous little twitch in his body didn’t go unnoticed as he fumbled with something behind his back, a wanton smile smirked on his lips. 

  You smile, adjusting the book from your lap and rubbing the pressure from your eyes, “a gift? Ed, you didn’t have to do that.” 

  “Didn’t have too,” he charmed, moving closer into your space, his jeans tickling the tips of your toes, “but… I wanted to.” 

  “Should I close my eyes?” 

  He chuckled, “sure sweetheart, hold out your hand,” 

  Your eyes shut tight, eyelashes squishing against your cheeks as you giggled, “why am I nervous?” 

  He stared at the rubber eraser shavings that clung to your bottom lip. The graphite on your fingers, a small hole in your jeans atop your knee, showing a smooth expanse of skin that he itched to touch. You had captivated him since the day you crossed his lazy stare in the lunchroom, and he thought of very little else. 

  He could still hear your squeals when you opened your eyes and saw the delicate ring in your palm. Still feel the way his heart raced when you jumped up and hugged his middle, squeezing him tight against you, the smell of your hair filling his nose with notes of strawberry, or was it peach? 

  He didn't realize he had the ring fisted in a vice grip until he felt blood in his palm, salty tears collecting in the thickness of his mustache, his lip quivering.

  They’re wiped away in haste at the sound of a police cruiser. The familiar scent of thick gasoline exhaust and a camel cigarette follow with the squeak of his driver's door and release of weight on the suspension. 

  A towering frame crowds the sun from Eddie’s brow. A thick mustache sits square on an egg shaped skull, sunken cheeks replace a once plump face. But the drawl and cigarette smoke are welcoming just the same. 

  “Hey kid.” 

  —

  Eddie was nervous. 

  The time you two had been spending together was making him feel giddy. You hadn’t kissed or so much as held hands yet but the air between you both had become filled with dense clouds of lust induced tension— it was hard for him to see straight. 

  He didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you only saw him as a friend, but tonight was the night the boundaries would cross, and he stood armed like a Paladin, ready to conquer his toughest quest yet, you.

  Ice had built up on the broken concrete steps to Eddie’s trailer and your slick bottomed converse hit the glassy surface just right for you to slip backwards, falling into strong leather coated arms. 

  “We gotta stop falling into each other princess,” he chuckled, holding you tight with hands wrapped around your waist, “gettin’ too old for this nonsense.”

  His scent invades you, encompassing you with hints of camels, a stick of big red gum, and starch powdered deodorant. 

  Your laugh bubbles out of your throat like a giggly champagne, “damn, you got me, totally do this on purpose, insurance claims. All the rage nowadays.” 

  He buffers for a bit as you tip forward on your feet and spin to face him, one step higher than he stands. “Only kidding,” you tease, grabbing his chin with icy fingers. 

  His doe eyes stare into yours, lost in the way you made his heart skip and his bones feel like jello, blood ablaze. He’s searching, searching your face for a giveaway— a sign. 

  And it happens like clockwork.

  Your hands rest on either of his cheeks, thumb sweeping softly over the creamy silk of his skin, an audible sigh slides from his throat, followed by a giggle slipping from yours before your voice narrows to a whisper, “lighten up Munson.”

  The salmon tone of his lips have gone more cherry colored in the cold, a little chapped from the frigid temps. Not the usually pinkish orangey hue they drew in warm light when he flustered over History notes and Chemistry study cards.

  The apples of his cheeks were rosy like a cherub on a Valentine’s Day card, glittered with fancy text swirling of “Be Mine?” 

  Coal eyes shone with the bright overhead light from the trailer park. A deer caught in headlights. 

  Eddie was handsome in a way nobody in Hawkins was. A mane of curled brown locks, eyes to match. He was affectionate, easygoing, and you loved him the minute he crashed into you a few months ago. 

  Hands still on your waist he pulled you towards him, “Can’t,” he breathes, almost silently, a huff of air between you now, “not when I’m around you, never around you.” 

  Your fingers tangle together around his shoulders, braided in the hair at the nape of his neck, he shudders at the temperature change on his skin. 

  A quirk in your brow you tilt your head and wet your lips, “why’s that?” 

  He joins you on the crowded step, taller than you, peering into your face, heavy hands still on the waist, “for months, haven’t been able to think straight when you’re here,” his hands rub on your lower back making lazy circles under your coat with his blunt nails. 

  “Hmm..” you tease, twirling a curled lock of of the hair framing his face between your fingers, sultry eyes looking up at him in thick eyelashed innocence, “wonder why that is?” 

  The opening he was looking for, boundary lines down in overgrown grass as if he rolled a crit hit to whatever creature stood in his path was laid out for him. 

  His forehead comes to rest on yours, surprisingly warm in the cold, his nose like frost as it slid beside your own, bumping and sharing one breath. 

  “ ‘cause I’m crazy ‘bout you,” he finally admits, heart loosening, unrestricting, “and I can’t stop thinking what your lips would feel like with mine.”  

  He feels your smile on his mouth, the bated breath you’re holding teasing his tongue, “find out,” is all you can get mutter before his lips press gently to yours. 

  —

  Hawkins was a few hours drive, longer yet after stopping at the nearest diner for a burger and fries. After staring at a menu for more than Hopper’s liking he ordered for himself and Eddie. 

  The coffee came in white ceramic mugs, the waitress setting them down in the designated spots that were already stained with rings of taupe, years of wear. 

  “Wayne’s all set up in a new trailer, living high off the hog or whatever he said during our weekly check-ins.”

  Eddie ate in silence, chewing slowly, eating but not really tasting. What was freedom if you weren’t a part of it? 

  He’d be the first to admit that he talked to you when he was stressed. When he thought he couldn’t shut his eyes without seeing the horrific beings that crawled upside down from our world, he turned to your voice, feeling you wrap around him gave him a sense of hope. 

  “It’s not in Forest Hills, somewhere a little more private, government owned land.” 

  Eddie sipped at the bitter coffee, taking the burn in a big swig, letting it hurt. Nodding along as he watched his reflection in the dark cup. 

  —

  Kissing you was like being able to breathe underwater, like the 1986 New Year’s fireworks over Lover’s Lake. 

  He kissed you at your door before school when he showed up every morning to drive you. He stole more kisses in his van, cursing the 8:15 bell, his hands on your waist pulling you further into him.

  Standing by your locker, he kissed your cheeks as you dug for textbooks. He pressed his lips to your ear in the lunch line, making you squirm. 

  He kissed your shoulder when he sat behind you teaching you to play his guitar. Pressing the delicate pads of your fingers into the strings to play each chord with ease. 

  He’d groan into your neck, while pressing you into the couch, nipping your skin until his lips were raw. 

  “Where have you been my whole life?” 

  Your fingers are entwined in his hair, pulling his weight  further into you, your legs wrap around his waist, “led astray, lost, so lost.” 

  He leans up, dark curtains of hair dangling into your face from your position on the saggy couch in the Munson living room.  

  He smiles a toothy grin, dimples breaching, “good thing I found you then, baby,” he sweeps a rogue eyelash from your cheek, “can’t escape me now.” 

  “wouldn’t want to even if I were dead.”

  —

  “Nope, hasn’t said a word, how do you know he can even talk?” 

  Owen’s sighs on the other end of the receiver, “he’s tough, but he’s been through a lot,  needs time to recover, find out who he is again.” 

  Hopper takes a long drag of a cigarette, “yeah, don’t know about that one doc, he’s mute.” 

  Short trimmed nails scratch at a tuft of curly white hair, stationed somewhere in Nevada, “Alright, just get him home, I’ll call the uncle and let him know.” 

  — 

  Hugs lingered. Kisses deepened. Bodies pressed to one another in a staticky velcro of magnets, unable to peel apart. 

  Things were hot and heavy between you and Eddie. Smoky, tingly, a fog that had your blood pulsing places you didn’t know was even possible. You didn’t want to be apart, aching to explore every inch of him. 

  And he felt the same. 

  Together you set the plans into place. 

  He purchased the condoms, made sure his favorite mix of the slowest metal music he could find was ready to go. He washed his bed sheets and lit a dust covered candle. 

  You had done your own routine, showering and thoroughly scrubbing every surface of your skin, lathering a thick lotion on your body, and planting perfume in the direct places Cosmo described as, ‘irresistible’. 

  It wasn’t his first time. But it was yours. 

  Running his fingers through his bangs once more he took a last meticulous look around his room, crossing the trailer to answer the front door, where you had knocked quietly. 

  You were gorgeous, standing in a pair of light wash jeans and a buttoned red sherpa coat. A bag over your shoulder. 

  “There’s my girl,” he cooed, holding his arms wide and embracing you in his signature bone crushing hug. His lips found yours in a fevered second and he walked you backwards inside, flipping the deadbolt as he kicked the door behind him. 

  The duffle bag travels from your shoulder to his arm and he breaks away from your tempting lips. Holding your shoulder he pulls you into him, looking at you as he leads you to his room. 

  “Got everything you need? Toothbrush?” 

  You smile a little nervously, “check.”

  “Okay, pajamas?” he inquires, “could wear mine if you wanted, you’d look pretty damn cute in my Garfield pants.” 

  “Packed and folded last night,” you say, tickling

 his sides, “you were on the phone with me when I did it.” 

  He stops before crossing the threshold to his room, hands gently pressed to your cheeks, looking into your eyes in a serious manner.

  “Are you sure? Like really sure?” his brows knit into concern, “I want you to be comfortable with this.. with me.” 

  You tug his shirt with a pinched grip, at his waist, staring back into his eyes, the truth on your tongue. 

  “I want you.” 

  —

  Gravel spits up from the rubber tires as Hopper’s cruiser pulls off onto the secluded road. Eddie’s head hits the window hard with a thud, waking him from a dream. 

  “Home sweet home, kid.” Hop grunts, cranking the vehicle to a stop after traveling down a long twisting driveway thick with bordering trees and miles of woods on either side. A safe haven for a man deemed dead. 

  He could make out the taillights of his van, nestled in the tall grass beneath a willow tree, obscured from view. Wayne’s trusty Ford under the carport. 

  The overcast sky splayed a gray color against the new Munson home, and sitting on steps that weren’t broken, was Wayne. 

  The passenger door releases with a groan, and he inhales the fresh scent of dirt and summer grass. Finally, he feels like he can breathe. 

  Wayne’s familiar thin lipped grin is spread wide on his face, smoke lingering from a cigarette in an ashtray. His wet eyes gleam at the boy he once thought was dead, as he stands to greet his nephew.

  “Hardly recognized ya with that short hair, Ed, and that beard?” he says rubbing a weathered hand through his own scruff, “givin’ me a run for my money son.” 

  He hadn’t seen his uncle since that friday morning in March. Unbeknownst to them both, in 15 short hours a cheerleader would die gruesomely in their living room, sprouting a world of chaos and demons, destruction, uncertainty and more carnage. 

  Hop had explained to Eddie that Wayne was compensated generously for his grief by the United States Government. He was told the ins and outs of what had happened and where Eddie was, and perched on land in a new house, he was told to wait. 

  —

  Spring had sprung, the hard winter that seemed like it would never end was finally seeing its demise. March brought promises of new growth in the soil, and warmer days ahead. 

  It was a typical Friday, besides a morning pep rally for the laundry basket team after winning an important game the night before. 

  A pep rally you never attended.

  Your back was pressed against the bathroom stall, skirt rucked up with the help of Eddie’s hand. 

  “We’re… gonna… get caught.” You rasped out between kisses.

  His other hand was interlaced with yours high above your head, “probably,” he teased, tongue licking into your mouth, “it’s worth it though? Yeah?” 

  His hand travels further to the cotton waist of your panties, dragging them further and further down your thigh, his lips assaulting your neck, vibrating with your delicate moans. 

  “For you?” you question, hooking an arm around his shoulder, as your panties hit the ground, “always.” 

  He smiles into your lips as he pushes into your warm center, taking the breath from your lungs as you adjust to him, ass cheeks cold on the metal siding of the stall. 

  Your legs are wrapped into the crease where his elbow meets, his cock dragging in and out languidly, mouths hung open and tasting each other's ecstasy as your eyes drink one another up. 

  “Swear I’ve never, ever had someone like you, baby,” he gasped, bangs frizzing from being wet from a morning shower then covered in sweat. 

  Hips pistoning into you, he can feel your walls clench and tighten, your breath choked before you release, saying his name as if it’s the only word you can make out. 

  He cums hard. biting his lip and burying his face into your neck, “I love you, fuck I love you.”

  It was the first time he had said it. He had known it for months, but today in the girls bathroom skipping a pep rally he could give a shit about, he figured it was the perfect place to say how he felt. 

  He’s still inside you when you say it back, spend leaking from you and onto the tiled floor. Your own eyes wet with the happiest of tears because no one has ever said that to you, not like this. 

  But this gorgeous man, in all his reputational flaws that didn’t mean shit, loved you. And you had never felt more emotion flooding through you all at once. 

  “I love you too, Eddie.” 

  —

  Hopper didn’t stay for supper, patting his barely there belly and saying the missus was expecting him home tonight. He tipped a felt hat goodbye to Wayne and to Eddie, telling them to call if they needed anything.

  He still hadn’t spoken, only nodded and waved curtly as the red tail lights danced down the tangled web of a driveway. 

  “Gonna make pork chops if you’re interested,” Wayne chirped, holding the door open for him as they climbed the same number of steps, “learned how to cook, can y’ believe that?” 

  He smiled softly, carrying his envelope of release papers and setting them on the table. 

  Everything from the old trailer was ruined. His guitar, all the band equipment he had stored in his room, the mattress that held more memories with you in them that he’d never get back— all gone, burned to a rancid fiery crisp when the fourth chime rang and Hawkins spread open like a festering wound. 

  The only thing he had of yours was the small bat ring with a sapphire stone. 

  Ten dollars in quarters at a shitty pizza place. He should have given you something real.

  —

  “.. yeah yeah and I was full of shit then,” Eddie grinned as Jeff and Gareth teased him about his graduation timeline. “This is my year, I can feel it.. ‘86 baby!”

  He was always a flare for dramatics, dungeon master or not he amped it up for the freshman, acting like DnD was life or death, as if the cult of Vecna couldn’t be missed. 

  To be fair, he spent months on this campaign, late nights plotting and scrawling into a binder as you sat behind him, playing with his hair. 

  French braids then pippy styled pigtails, a cute bun on the top of his head with little hairs sweeping against his forehead and at the nape of his neck, perfect curls. 

  “Ten bucks says Wheeler cries when Vecna makes his return.”

  “You think?” 

  “Definitely.”

  Shoving Dustin and Mike with specific instructions to find a replacement player for Lucas, he sits down to his measly little lunch, leaning over to your space and whispering so only you can hear. 

  “After Hellfire tonight you wanna come over? Wayne bought a frozen pizza and I heard that Family Video finally got some good horror flicks in.” 

  Stealing a pretzel from his fingers you nod your head yes, “ I’ll get the movie, meet you at the trailer?” 

  The rest of the day dragged on. One boring class after another, students excited for the upcoming game, teachers unable to keep the roar of amped up Jocks under control, but alas the last bell finally rang. Releasing Hawkins High for Spring Break of ‘86. 

  Some kids went on vacation, others hunkered down with their friends. And some never made it back to school when classes resumed. 

  Walking down to his designated selling spot at the forgotten picnic table in the woods, he could have never imagined the trouble he’d be in just seven hours later. 

  —

  Pork Chops seared in a pan with some butter and a chopped onion, Wayne had the news playing on the small tv in the kitchen, listening for the weather report. 

  The trailer was identical to the one lost to the rotting flesh of the Upside Down. Newer, and a damn sight cleaner, but the layout was exactly the same, except for an added bedroom with an attached bath on the opposite wall of the living room.

  The filthy hat collection was replaced by odd cowboy decor and small wolf figurines. Eddie paced around the living room, touching the knick knacks that someone else had picked out not even questioning whether or not Wayne enjoyed this kind of stuff. 

  He had shown Eddie to his room, a navy blue carpet stretched across the floor, a queen sized bed against the back wall. New new new. Everything was foreign to him. 

  He would miss the heavy creak of a dresser drawer that didn’t shut properly, his closet door that fell off its track years before. Hell, he’d even miss the itch of the green wool blanket he kept on his bed in the winter months. 

  “Got your own bathroom too,” Wayne said cheerfully hovering in the doorway, hand rubbing the knob as he stared at the floor, “figured you’d wanna shower ‘fore supper, so I laid a towel out.” 

  Eddie turned his head nodding while he poked at the too soft blanket folded on his bed.

  “It’s good to have you home, Eddie.” Wayne said, finally looking into his nephew’s eyes, “didn’t feel the same without you.” 

  Wayne wasn’t a coddler, he didn’t want Eddie to feel like he couldn’t be trusted, so he turned to leave, “shower’s got real good water pressure.” He takes  a glance back at Eddie, and looks around the room before pulling the door shut behind him.

  “Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, turning away at the last second, avoiding the piercing color of Wayne’s eyes before they could break him down. 

  —

  Ten o’ clock on the dot your car crunched onto the dusty driveway of Forest Hills. Eddie’s van wasn’t parked out front yet, but thankfully the Munson trailer was never kept locked. 

  The trailer smelled of old smoke and musk from two hard working men. Even if the laundry was never caught up, and greasy wrappers from a quick bite of a burger littered the counter— Eddie’s home was comforting to you. 

  You didn’t have to fumble around for the light switches anymore, walking in the dark you knew where the table could connect with your hip if you weren’t careful. 

  Ten steps from the kitchen, down the hall was his bedroom door, five steps back led to the bathroom. He had cleared a drawer for you to keep your clothes in, socks, extra pajamas, some of his favorite pairs of your underwear lived in the top drawer on the right. 

  The mirror on his dresser held a collection of pictures of the two of you from the photo booth at Starcourt Mall, movie ticket stubs, and the mint condition guitar he kept sacred. 

  A yawn escapes your tired mouth the warmth of a shower calls to you.  

  Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, the water sputters under the shower head as it always did, and familiar music floods your ears from the thin walls outside. 

—

  His reflection is gaunt, different than the last time he looked at himself, the night he struck the mirror in disgust. 

  He’s too happy to rid himself of the swamp smelling clothes that itched and scraped his skin. The lick of a flame would do them justice, good riddance to the worst time of his life.

  The shower is bigger, the head double the size of the one he grew used to. The spray of scalding water hits his head like magma. Burning his flesh, washing away months of isolation, stale air, and stiff clothing. 

  The water released muscles in his back that had grown crimped from the thin cot he curled himself on. His fingers ran through the shorter length of hair on his head, just above his eyebrows realizing it now was long enough to drip water into his eyes. 

  He didn’t check the labels before rubbing whatever soap or shampoo it was into his skin, but the slide of it onto his pale and gummy mauled scars felt like butter on toast. 

  Registering the faint scent of a stixky sweet fruit he couldn’t determine if it was strawberry or peach, but the concoction had him clutching his chest, unable to breathe. 

  It smelled like you.

  You. His best friend.

You. His first girlfriend.

You. The only person he has ever loved— so intensely, it killed him. 

  You you you. 

  His gem. All sapphire blues with depths beyond comparison to anyone else who simply peaked on the surface. 

  Gone.

  “Ready whenever you are!” Wayne knocked on the door, “pork chop ain’t no good cold.”

  He wipes the tears from his eyes. Regulates his breathing with labored intakes. And finally admits the thing he couldn’t for the past six months. 

  “She’s gone.” 

  —

  “Sorry for the mess, maid took the week off.” 

  “You live here alone?”

  Murmured voices are muffled under the rush of water from the shower, “Eddie?..that you?”

  Shuffled steps get closer and the bathroom door swings open, Eddie’s eyes are wide, wild with excitement as they roam over your form. 

  He licks his lips, stalking towards you in a lazy manner with dark hooded eyes, “prettiest girl in the whole world in my bathroom?” His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, a breathtaking move leaving you giggly as his hand caresses your cheek, “hope you’re naked under these clothes.” 

  He presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, dipping you low and swinging you back up, he tastes like Mountain Dew and lingering hints of nicotine, spread with a wicked grin. 

  “I missed you, handsome,” you say, pressing your lips to his again, “so how was it? Did Mike cry when Vecna came back?” 

  Eddie barks out a laugh, rubbing his hands together, “think I might’ve seen a single tear fall, but they defeated him— crit hit by Sinclair’s sister.”

  “Really? That’s.. impressive!” 

  “It was… shit, I’ve never been more proud of those little assholes.” His smile fades and you know he’ll miss being DM for them next year. 

  “Eddie?” A small voice asks from the living room.

  Your brow quirks in question and he looks at you voice whispering low, “Chrissy Cunningham wants to buy ketamine.”

  “What?!” you whisper back face struck in shock, “seriously?!” 

  Eddie nods, eyes wide in almost disbelief himself, “wanted a half ounce at first, but then said she needed something stronger.” 

  Your face pulls concern, honestly astonished that someone who seemed so prim and proper would want something like that. Eddie didn’t sell k normally you’ve been with him on multiple occasions and the only thing that was consistent with your peers of Hawkins High was weed. 

  “Do you even have it?” 

  “Dunno” he shrugs, lips in a frown, “told her I did because it’s an easy thirty bucks, but I could just crush up some tic-tacs… she wouldn’t know the difference.” 

  “Eddie? Did you find it?” Chrissy calls out in a nervous pitch. 

  “I can talk to her while you find something?” 

  “That’d be great,” he kissed you once more, lips buzzing, “two minutes!” He practically skips to his bedroom and shoots you a wink. Leaving you in a flight of butterflies lining your stomach. Helplessly in love. 

  —

  Inhaling the hot cooked meal that didn’t taste like warmed up roadkill, Eddie sat in silence in a clean pair of clothes that weren’t his, listening to Wayne talk about what he’d been up to since they had last seen each other. 

  He burned with questions, needing, wanting, aching to know but the only thing he could blurt out came choked and almost suffocating on the use of his vocal cords. 

  “I need to see her.”

  Wayne simply slurped his iced tea, setting the glass down heavy on the oak table, ice shifting. “Figured you would… want me to drive ya?” 

  Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head, “I need to go alone.” 

  With instructions from Wayne on the less traveled roads back to town, Eddie’s van sputtered to life in a cloud of backfiring smoke. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the passenger seat, he knew what would be there, and what wouldn’t. 

  Nothing was the same. Not anymore. 

  —

  The boat floor was cramped, quite literally packed like sardines in a can, you were somehow lulled to sleep by the sway of Lover’s Lake waters and the even breathing of Eddie’s chest. 

  Your head tucked beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could without crushing your bones. 

  Rick’s offered little comfort for an empty stomach outside of a moldy fruit bowl, an expired beer and a singular can of spaghetti o’s. But you were both safe for now. And that’s what mattered. 

  The kids, Steve Harrington— of all people— and Robin promised food and any information they could find without seeming suspicious. He was gracious for their companionship, needing something to keep him busy while trying to hide his own slip to insanity from you. 

  Your tears were endless, soft and steady one minute and the next you were wrecked, in a choked fit clinging to him for dear life. 

  Eddie’s mind played on replay of your trembling screams when Chrissy’s bones snapped like twigs and her eyes vacuumed out of her skull. Vecna, a made up character that he had been obsessing over for the past couple months for DnD was real. 

  Killing teenagers for what? World domination? Eddie and yourself were the ones on the run, knowing all too well how a dead cheerleader in his trailer would look to any cop with half a brain. 

  He’d run forever if it meant not losing you and killing Vecna for good. Everything he had ever known, books of fantasy and creatures that he drew for campaigns, it was all real, and these kids have been fighting it for years now. 

  The sound of tires crunching on the driveway had his ears perked like a guard dog, followed by three slamming doors. Instructions were given, and he could only imagine that whoever it was was in Rick’s house and it was only a matter of time before they noticed the boat house just like Mayfield had. 

  The walkie talkie Dustin left was clutched in his hand, you were both fucked, and needed help— now.

—

  The Roane Hill Cemetery was eerily foggy, dew coated the hot blades of grass from the sweltered heat. Wayne drew a map on what section you were in. Apparently the number of people lost in the “earthquake” were in the upper digits now, and they were running out of land to bury the deceased.

  Those not recovered were given markers slotted into the ground with accompanied by silk ribbons to symbolize hope. They were nestled up under a thick tree line, complete with a wrought iron fence. 

  He bubbled out a laugh when he crossed by his own empty grave. The headstone was covered in graffiti of wishes to burn in hell. Typical. His death date marked as  ‘March 27 1986’. But that wasn’t true. 

  Lots of people passed that day when hell itself opened a crimson quaking flood. but not him. Although he wished he had. 

  Pushing forward, he knew had to be close now. The air was thick in the foggy whiteness— blinding him. A high pitched croak screeched from the sky, and he stumbled backward, landing on his ass with a wet thud, a spattering of grass grown wild in tender dirt. 

  His chest cavity sunk in, gasping for breath but coming up empty. Each threatened choke chipped away at him as his fists tore at the soft ground. 

  His girl. His gem. Laid to rest.

  —

  The Winnebago rocked on uneven suspension as Steve winded down the Indiana highway back to Hawkins. It was eerily quiet. Even Robin was silent, planning her mission in her head? You couldn’t be sure. 

  Tightening the bandana around Eddie’s curls you ask him if it feels okay. 

  “Yeah, course.” 

  Days of running. Hours of growling stomachs, unable to keep down food— you prayed this plan of Nancy’s would work, that Max would be able to lure Vecna with her vulnerable mind, that Eddie could distract the bats long enough to have the others attack his paralysis ridden body—it had to work— right? 

  Eddie sits and pulls you onto his lap, adjusting the spear made by the same eleven year old girl who defeated his campaign a few nights before. Erica, you learned, was a warrior. 

  “Nervous?” you asked throwing an arm around his neck and whispering into his ear. 

  He shrugged nonchalantly, “little worried.” 

  You believed in the plan, in the younger kids, in Steve Nancy and Robin who had been fighting stuff like this from a different dimension for years. They were trustworthy and intelligent. 

  “It’s gonna work babe,” you encouraged, stroking his cheek, “we’ll clear your name, graduate, and then leave this hell hole, together.” 

  He looks at you with strained eyes, wetter than usual, “you and me?” 

  Staring back at him you press your lips to his in a gentle kiss, “forever.” 

  —

  He laid there until the sky turned to ink. Speaking to you in his head, knowing in his deepest of hearts that you could hear him. Telling you how he had missed you, how your beautiful smile played like a film in his brain. How he loved you. and hours have told you sooner, more, every day.

  He told you how he wished he was gone too. Would you like that? It could be so easy to do.

  Tracing his fingers over the formal font of your engraved name. He smirked at the silly spelling of your middle name. 

  It was comforting. 

  Eddie hadn’t felt this sense of calm since the day you hadn’t come back to him in the mirror, and he thought whatever magic spell was broken until you reached for him one last time, promising to never leave. 

  But you did, and he was alone. 

  Standing upright, he let out a sleepy yawn, “can I come by tomorrow?” he asked, “would you be okay with that?” He smiled, and bent at the knee to press his lips into the stone above your name. 

  “Oh,” he remembered, fishing your ring from the breast pocket of his borrowed flannel shirt, “look what I found.”

  He held it to your stone, “this belongs to you, baby, I want you to have it.” 

  Placing the small ring on the smooth base of your tombstone, he gets back up, knees clicking like he’s years older than he actually was. 

  “See you tomorrow, my sweet gem.” 

  —

  The night air shifted on his drive home, blowing a chilling breeze from the north that whipped his hair around his ears. The van struggled on the drive home with each gust that blew against the metal frame. 

  “Think we’re in for a storm tonight.” Wayne said when Eddie breached the front steps, straightening his arm, “ol elbow’s actin’ up.” 

  “Kinda cold for September, right?” 

  “All of a sudden it dropped about thirty degrees, somethin’s a brewin’.” 

  Wayne had his truck keys wrapped around a finger, “I gotta go check on Miss Pam, her husband died in the uhh.. anyway, she’s not doing well and you remember how those damn lights always went out? I’ll be back after while.”

  Eddie grew a smile, “should I wait up?” 

  Wayne stopped in his tracks, talking around a smirk hiding a laugh, “don’t get smart with me.” 

  They both share a glance and laugh softly, and Eddie still has a smile even after the rumble of Wayne’s pickup gets carried away in the wind. 

  He locked up, pulling the vinyl shades and unhooking the curtains, pitching the trailer into darkness right as the rain pelted the window panes. 

  Wayne must have made his bed when he was in the cemetery. A small radio was perched on a nightstand and after slipping into starched pajama pants, from the fancy dresser, Eddie fiddled with the knob until the faint guitar sounds filled the room. 

  Thunder grumbled in the distance, but what he heard next was repetitive, growing louder. Shit, maybe Wayne didn’t have a house key. 

  “Ya know,” he says, walking to through the kitchen to the front door, “you tel me not to wait up but then you bang on the door because you don’t have keys? C’mon!” 

  The door swings open with a final gust of wind. Mud sloshed on his feet, Rain splattered his face. But that was not a concern. 

  A beautiful face, covered in Earth. Eyes he hadn’t seen outside of a mirror in months. You wore the same thing he last saw you in, same tattered wear that his Hellfire shirt had, but it somehow looked soft. 

  “I promised you forever.” 

[jupiter-letters]

Dating Clark Kent would include:

Fem!Reader or GN!Reader TW: None

A/N: Felt like writing for clark lately, I'm down horrifically for this man. This can be for any incarnation of Superman but I based it off the comics and my adventures with superman

It all started with a random encounter at the library while he was researching an old historical site in Metropolis(aka busy work for the new guy). He saw you with a couple of books in your hand, eyes browsing the shelves. 

He worked up the nerve to start a conversation with you and actually managed to get your number. He left the library with butterflies in his stomach and an angry call from Perry asking his whereabouts. 

A good starter date for him was obviously coffee. He spends hours deciding where to meet up with you, trying to find reasonably priced coffee with a good atmosphere. He tries to come up with a bunch of different outfit combinations, making the attempt to look nice but not too dressed up. This proved difficult since his wardrobe is 90% dress shirts and slacks, he’s still gotta look casual. Clark is such an overthinker, he just wants things to go well ; v; 

Of course the date goes well cause he’s so perfectly himself and he charms you so naturally. He’s surprised when you ask to see him again, the whole time he was sweating bullets praying you didn’t notice. After that the second, third, and fourth date all are perfect. Well not perfect but the time spent together makes up for the hiccups. 

Now let’s get into the nitty-gritty: early days of dating Clark still tries to be perfect, he hasn’t become totally comfortable with you, yet ;)  I think for him he wants to wow his partner in the early stages, he feels like trying to get a city slicker like you he has to bring his A-game. 

When he sees you he tries to bring you little trinkets and flowers, he likes to spoil you every now and again. 

Touching! He likes to be touching you when you’re near, a hand on your waist, brushing his pinky against your hand, pressing his knee next to yours when you’re sitting together. His love language is acts of service, words of affirmation and physical touch. He loves doing things for the people close to him. This includes: Taking out your trash, watering your plants, making your bed, putting a pot of coffee on in the morning, and fixing any holes in your clothes. 

Now when you're really in it with him he tells you about the Superman stuff, he feels like he can trust you but there’s still the risk of you knowing that’ll get you hurt. He doesn’t underestimate your autonomy but there are very powerful forces out there that want him gone, and you are very precious to him. 

Once you can convince him that you are willing to accept the risks and tell him how much you care about him, the last of the walls come down. You’re stuck with him forever now and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

When it’s a quiet summer afternoon he’ll take you flying just before sunset, he’ll go right above the clouds so you can see what he gets to see. However if you’re afraid of heights he won’t force you lol. He’ll make sure you’re properly dressed when he takes you to visit the fortress of solitude(He tries is the key phrase). You always underestimate how cold it’ll be and he has to go all the way back to metropolis to get your favorite jacket while you sit by a heater.

 Looking after him when he gets kryptonite poisoning from fighting bitch ass Lex Luthor, seeing him sweat for the first time with dark circles under his eyes. It’s more painful than what he’s feeling at that moment, and he still tries to tell you it’s not that bad. Once he’s feeling better he has to talk you down from murdering Luthor.

“Honey don’t-” “Nuh-uh call Bruce, I want a bazooka.” “You don’t need a bazooka sweetheart, I'm fine.” “No way I’m coming for his bald ass.” “Baby I’m fine, please calm down.”

Of course you’re not serious but you still want to protect him. Nobody messes with Clark and gets away with it. You and his friends will see to that, yes sir!

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Please like or reblog if you like my stuff.

[sirfrogsworth]

Froggie's (Almost) Very Productive Day

I try to fit as many out-and-about chores as possible into a single day so I only have one set of post-exertional malaise consequences instead of consequences after each day of doing a thing. So any time I decide to drive, I try to find several tasks to accomplish all at once.

My first stop was the Family Services Division in the hopes of getting some help with grocery bills. I am making ends meet, but it seems to be getting harder each month. And maybe I could have skipped my trip to Florida and saved that money, but if I don't do something drastic for my mental health, I fear this first holiday season without a parent could send me into the darkness.

I needed to do an interview to finish applying for SNAP. I wanted to do a phone interview, but the next appointment was in January. So I went to social services where they allow walk-in appointments. I waited in a tiny plastic chair for several hours until they called my name. She yelled out "Benjamin" because when most people see "Grelle" they aren't really sure how to say it. (Rhymes with belly.)

She started my interview and it was going swimmingly at first. But then she started asking questions about the house and my inheritance and my trust. I had no idea what to tell her. It feels like a mistake now, but I have had pretty much no involvement in that process. I have no idea how it works. And I started to panic because she was acting like I was committing fraud or something by not mentioning the trust. But the entire point of the trust was to protect my benefits. Nothing is mine. I own nothing. I have no access. But I had no idea how to explain that.

Maybe my lawyer can help me apply, but I did not want them investigating everything and screwing things up before we even have the estate through probate. We specifically hired a lawyer and went through this convoluted process to make sure everything was on the up and up. But she really made me feel like I was doing something wrong. And that made me panic, which probably made me look even more guilty of something. So I just canceled everything and left.

After a few hours in a crowded government office, I decided to head to a different crowded government office.

I know I didn't need it until 2025, but I decided to go ahead and get my Real ID thingie before my first flight. I was kind of hoping they'd retake my picture because my current driver's license is... well...

And I'm so glad they took my big terrible picture and made it into a smaller, more terrible picture.

People complain about the DMV, but the one near me runs like a machine. It was filled with people and I still only had a 10 minute wait time.

I'm starting to wonder if all of those 80s comedians who were all, "What's the deal with the DMV?" were exaggerating.

Good stuff, Jerry.

I head up to the counter and ask for a Real ID. She asks for two pieces of mail and my birth certificate.

And this disappointed me a little bit.

I did my research. I went to the Real ID website and used their interactive guide to figure out exactly which documents I would need. They gave me this entire checklist and I printed it out and went through all my records and mail trying to find everything.

I had to wait a week for my internet bill to come because it's the only thing I forgot to change to paperless. This took a lot of effort and I was ready to be validated for being so prepared.

And she asks for two pieces of mail.

Any mail.

So I was off to get new tires.

Driving around on 8 year old bald tires was giving me anxiety. I didn't have the money for new tires, but I remember the guy saying they had financing. Recently several of my past debts went past the statute of limitations, and so my credit score lifted itself out of the pits of "poor" and into the realm of "fair." So I decided to take a chance and apply for a Discount Tire credit card. It's a 6 month payment plan with no interest, so that didn't feel as predatory as all the credit card offers I get in the mail with 8000% interest.

We started going through the approval process and I was answering all of the questions and then I saw the name of the bank offering the credit. It was the same bank that tried to sue me and also the bank that can longer collect due to the statute. I was worried they put me on some sort of list and would deny me. But, to my surprise, they approved me instantly. And wouldn't you know it, they gave me almost exactly the amount needed for a new set of tires.

I'm hoping we'll be doing another auction of the house stuff soon, so I plan to pay off the card and then cancel it, but this was the only solution I could come up with to drive safely until then.

I was having a weird day where photos of crusty rich wide dudes followed me everywhere I went. Here is my good ol' boy governor at the entrance to social services.

And at the tire place, I noticed this fella...

Why does every rich CEO think they are a font of wisdom capable of creating compelling quotes?

Does he think no one has ever said "work hard" and "have fun"? And after he said this was he like...

"That's gold, put that in *every* store."

"Oh, and use that picture of me where it looks like a handsome gal just grabbed my undercarriage."

He probably thinks, "Well, no one has put these specific generic platitudes together into a single mega-platitude. I am a genius."

"Be honest, work hard, have fun, be grateful, pay it forward" sounds like he had a bunch of motivational posters on his wall and started reading them all at once.

Like, every line could have a picture of an eagle above it.

In any case, the guy at the tire store, Dakota, was really nice. He made the experience very low anxiety. And he really liked my Thor's Hammer keychain with built in fidget spinner.

He went around showing it to all his coworkers. "Look, it even spins!" And they were like, "Dude, where did you get that??" And I was like, "Amazon." Now I'm just imagining 10 dudes at a tire store all fidgeting their hammers.

As nice as he was, Dakota was still a salesman and had a job to do. He gave me two tire options and tried to upsell me. The cheapest tires had a "1" rating for winter. He said they get "super hard" in the cold... I tried not to giggle. But I explained I drive about twice a month and mostly to the grocery store. If it is a bad winter day, I'll just wait or get delivery. He understood and set me up with the cheaper tires.

He then checked out my car and noticed my tire pressure sensors were dying. I keep getting a warning light on my dash. Apparently they all have tiny batteries in them that die after 7 years. And you can't just replace the batteries so you have to install brand new sensors.

And this is where my social anxiety got me into trouble.

I don't actually need these sensors. They are usually inaccurate. I prefer to test my tires with an actual gauge. But I got so caught up in his sales pitch that I agreed to replace them... at $60 each. For that I could have gotten the fancier tires. I really don't care if an orange light shows up on my dash. And I looked up the price online and a pack of 4 is $30. Though that is without installation.

But still... I wasn't thinking and he was so nice that I was just like, "I want to please Dakota. Saying no might make Dakota sad." Dakota's job is selling me but that doesn't mean I have to buy anything. He would live if I had said "no thanks."

To make my blunder more blunderous, when they finished the tires he asked for my key fob. And it decided that was the time for the battery to die. And in order to reset the system for the new tire pressure sensors, you have to press two buttons on the fob for 7 seconds. Thankfully I had a spare fob at home, but if I want my fancy new $240 sensors to work, I have to return to Dakota and have him initialize them.

I really hope these are the Cadillac of sensors.

Or, like, the ones they use on Cadillacs?

They better be accurate, is what I'm saying.

I do feel safer with new tires. So I am glad I did that. And I gave them a good obligatory kick and felt the tread. They seem nice enough even if they get boners in the winter. It's crazy how bald my other tires were in comparison. Like, I can fit half my finger down into the tread on the new ones—which did not get them super hard.

The way I drive, I probably won't wear them down. They'll probably start to rot before I do.

Before I do, meaning before I wear them down.

Not before I rot.

I am not in a rotting competition with my tires.

I was then off to Sam's. I decided all of my hard work accomplishing 2 out of 3 goals deserved some sushi. So I grabbed some California Rolls and headed home. On my way out, a Hummer and a Porsche nearly collided in the parking lot. And they sort of got stuck facing each other. One of them needed to back up and they both signaled at each other like "You back up, I'm not backing up." And it was just this weird standoff between the two douchiest looking cars you could imagine.

I mean, you have to be a douche to drive a Hummer.

I still remember the mystery Hummer dialysis patient from when my dad was going 3 time per week. We could never figure out who owned the Hummer, but we knew it was not the underpaid nurses and techs. So it had to be one of the patients. And none of them seemed the type. We never solved that mystery.

That hummer started off a delightful safety yellow. (Elon would cry.)

They decided this wasn't extra enough... so they did this...

Katrina and I could never decide... are these cow spots or the world's least effective camoflauge?

There was another patient who drove this old beater...

And I loved seeing this car because we had the same one when I was a little kid. I'm afraid the aesthetics of the 1980s Caprice Classic did not stand the test of time, but it had great sentimental appeal for me.

But this maroon beast that squeaked and sputtered its way from here to there belonged to a very sweet older gentleman. Sometimes he and my dad would be dialysis buddies—sitting next to each other in the recliners. And the worst thing about dialysis was the boredom. All you have to do is watch broadcast TV with 4 channels.

All of the TVs require headphones. They give you your own set of super cheap headphones in the dialysis welcome bag. They were very uncomfortable so I ordered my dad better ones with cushioned ear cups.

His dialysis buddy noticed them and thought they looked nice. And then he revealed that his free headphones broke and he didn't know how to get new ones. He had been watching TV with no sound for weeks. So, I bought another pair with the soft ear cups and my dad gave them to his friend. And it just made me happy imagining the two of them watching The Price is Right in matching headphones.

I do have to make fun of this sweet old man a little bit. When I walked passed his car I noticed he implemented the world's most effective anti-theft device ever created.

That's right... The Club™.

If someone decides they have to have a 40 year old car with an engine that sounds like a dying hyena and a hubcap missing... they are out of luck.

But hey, you gotta protect what is important to you. And if I needed a getaway car and my choices were between his beater and the Cow Hummer, I'd take his ride for sure.

Well, I'd try... and then get arrested because The Club™ is undefeatable.

Do NOT look that up on YouTube. It's 100% true. (And the Lock Picking Lawyer doesn't count due to him being able to break into Fort Knox with a paperclip and then doing it again to make sure it isn't a fluke.)

The dialysis center is in the same complex as my local Tolerable Schnucks and I still see that maroon boat of a car every once in a while. I always smile whenever it is there because it lets me know he is hanging in there and hopefully still has sound for his TV.

Wow, I went off on a mega-tangent.

I didn't even finish talking about my day. Where was I? Oh, the douche standoff finally ended. The Porsche Douche capitulated and backed up. Probably due to the fact the Hummer Douche has 0 visibility behind him.

When I got home I started devouring my sushi. I finally heard back from my lawyer. He submitted the last of the evidence for my appeal. And I was finally able to confirm he got the records of my ECT treatments from 20 years ago. I worked so hard to get those. At first, they forgot to send all records before 2011. I had to call back and figure that out. They shipped them and they didn't arrive until a week before we had to file. Everything was so last minute and my anxiety has been... palpable. It felt like when I did my science fair project on Sunday night.

He's hoping to get a decision at the beginning of next year. He warned me that these appeals are usually rejected. And that the most effective method of approval was a hearing in front of an administrative law judge. But that could be delayed by up to a year. So I might need to figure out how to survive until 2025. As long as my brother does what he is legally required to do, I should be okay. But counting on that also gives me palpable anxiety.

And that was my day.

Every time I go out is always an adventure.

But remember...

BE NICE. EAT YOUR VEGGIES. PET CUTE DOGS. DREAM BIG. KEEP YOUR TIRES WARM... FOR REASONS. 5 LIFE LESSONS -Froggie, Mildly Famous Internet Person

[wrathful-banette]

sooo.... I've been getting into slay the princess. here are some headcanons for the voices if they were given free reign to exist in the outside world. also they all live in the same house since I'm a sucker for that trope. also the princesses be there

under the cut because it will be very long. endgame spoilers for stp btw.

Voice Of The Hero:

the one that everyone is at least mostly chill with.

all the other voices have a fair amount of experience with him, considering the routes.

overall a pretty kind and considerate guy ←this is literally just canon what am I going on about

Can very easily miss subtext and sarcasm also.

↑the contrarian exploits this for friendly reasons!

↑↑the cold exploits this for evil reasons

I imagine he would look basically like a smaller the long quiet.

him and the contrarian are thick as thieves, as well as him and the long quiet.

struggles with feelings of loneliness and disconnection from the world around him.

semi-frequent nightmares, ranging from mostly being unpleasant dreams to "waking up in the middle of night terrified." thankfully, the latter option is rather rare for him.

very fond of physical affection.

Voice Of The Contrarian:

he's a crow!

very good at using reverse psychology.

However, this comes at the cost of being very susceptible to reverse psychology himself.

forgets to preen with alarming frequency, with surprisingly little consequence.

extremely loyal to those he cares for, just in weird ways.

Shares the hero's trait of being rather susceptible to loneliness.

he really likes giving the other voices nicknames! it's a show of affection for him.

him and hero kind of have what you'd call a bromance going on.

Voice Of The Hunted:

a sandpiper.

He's grown a lot more comfortable with the others, even though he still retains his prey animal mindset in a lot of ways.

very frequently puttering around making sure "the flock" (the other voices) are doing okay.

↑ especially when it comes to food!! his ass WILL make sure you've eaten

one of the main driving forces reminding the broken to eat drink and preen himself.

very meticulous about preening himself, but somehow even more meticulous with the others (headcanon inspired by someone else idr who sadly)

Can go from just standing on the ground normally to flying like 20 feet in the air in just a couple seconds.

he can and has done this on pure instinct when he's been startled outdoors.

desperately wants to carry people around you should totally let him do that pleasepleasepleaseplease

Very nervous around the beast/den, but has been calming down a bit in that respect.

surprisingly protective over the other voices, the broken and paranoid especially.

Voice Of The Smitten:

flamingo <3

struggles with feelings of inadequacy, feeling like he has to give 110% to the acts of service with the damsel at all times, even when that just isn't feasible for him.

He has a... complex relationship with the stubborn.

He struggles to understand how the hell his relationship with the adversary even functions, but is able to respect it for the most part.

↑This respect was only fostered when they almost got into a physical fight because the smitten questioned if he really loved the adversary.

Smitten's really bad at asking for help, sees it as unbecoming for himself.

For this same reason, he's also terrible at expressing his more genuinely bad feelings.

overpreens when stressed, leading to bald spots which he always gets extremely self-conscious and embarrassed about. nobody knows he gets these except himself.

resents the voice of the cold for the burned grey route, but refuses to give him the time of day about it.

Voice of the Broken:

He's been doing better. the others have been helping the best they can.

surprisingly enough however, one of the biggest catalysts for his improving mental health has been... the nightmare/moment of clarity?

it started off as her not having any fun messing with somebody who was already so beaten down, but the paradigm has long sense shifted from that.

Don't get me wrong, he's still a pushover. but less so now.

^these headcanons courtesy of @kalkori btw (hiii kb :3)

His feathers are a mess most of the time. the hunted is his saving grace in this respect.

actually, him and the hunted have grown rather close, in their own weird way.

Voice of The Stubborn:

he's a shoebill stork!

him and the adversary/eye of the needle are in a relationship together.

They've since branched out and gotten other hobbies other than beating the shit out of eachother (though they still do that frequently),

like beating the shit out of invasive plants, and picking fights with the more powerful princesses together

^the tower has not known a moment of peace since this began. she will not know a moment of peace again.

he frequently wrestles with the long quiet for fun!

hotblooded in the most literal way possible. actual walking heater.

likes pestering the skeptic.

Voice of the Paranoid:

most of these headcanons are also going to be courtesy of kb they are the number one voice of the paranoid fan to me

He's a Bittern! longass neck having ass

he is straight up sneef snorfin it

Frequently overpreens, leading to multiple bald spots.

the long quiet has put him into a longass cone over this one at least one occasion.

unlike the smitten, he doesn't really care about the bald spots.

buddies with the hunted!

is not happy about the whole "Moment Of Clarity hanging out with the broken" deal. Is only going along with it because he seems so much happier nowadays. (relative to how he was before, anyway.)

Will instinctively start muttering "heart lungs liver nerves" whenever he senses she's near.

By the way, the mantra still works. and now he can do it on other people, same body or not.

Considering using this ability to become a doctor!

extends his neck out really far on instinct whenever he feels threatened. just bittern things <3

Also, him and the smitten are friends, against all odds. nobody knows how their friendship functions with the way they are

Voice of the Cheated:

dont have a solid bird idea for him but a dodo bird could be really fun

i love him he sucks so much

Somehow keeps getting himself injured in ways that he just straight up could Not feasibly predict or prevent. he is NOT taking it in stride.

absolutely despises the opportunist, considers him a slimy, cheating bastard.

Isn't allowed to participate in board game sessions anymore.

not after the incident.

but he is allowed to observe and call people out if they try and cheat.

He's mellowed out a bit since the construct. just a bit.

he hates preening himself, and tends to get fidgety when other people preen him. but he always relents eventually, if only because he very much dislikes how uncomfortable it is to have unpreened feathers.

Voice of the Cold

also someone who's mellowed out a bit. Still, his walls are up.

But it's a lot harder to keep up a facade of disconnection when you have your own body. when you're more than just an observer. he tries regardless. And mostly succeeds. But the long quiet knows the truth.

The spectre and moment of clarity will sneak up behind him and try to jumpscare him with cold hands on his shoulders. it never works.

always ridiculously cold. counteracts this with the power of always layering.

butts heads with the smitten a lot. and the stubborn, actually.

He considers both of them hopeless romantics with nothing better to do except fawn over their partners.

Voice of the Skeptic

He'd probably be some kind of owl?

i'm gonna be honest i ain't got much for him but he does get along well with the paranoid, being able to reign him in from his more... impulsive worries.

Nobody realises that him and the prisoner are in a relationship. they don't plan on telling anyone until they find out.

he enjoys puzzles of any kind! jigsaw, logic, math, crossword, you name it.

good at white lies, but terrible at telling lies with any sort of substance or ill intent behind them.

tends to pace around a lot when deep in thought.

him and stubborn are shitasses to eachother most of the time.

Voice of the Opportunist

definitely a vulture.

he sucks so goddamn much i love him

he's actually turned the two-faced-ness down a bit since the construct. just a bit.

likes hanging out with the smitten, he thinks he's funny. No, no, he's not getting attached. shut it.

him and the witch hang out a lo too, but in a way that involves, well. a lot of biting.

they basically just playfight, but like. fighting dirty playfighting.

...He tends to avoid the thorn. he feels a bit guilty around her.

quiet ass footsteps. he just... appears in places sometimes. refuses to acknowledge this.

he eats bugs. and a lot of other weird things, actually.

both of these are because he's pretty much always hungry. if you leave food out he will have some.

he is much more impulsive than he would have you believe.

aaand that's all of them for now! if you read all of this we are now married /j

[littlekohai77]

Muse Dating headcanons

{𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝙸'𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. }

:𝟶 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚖𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚞𝚕𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑 :𝟹

🅆🄰🅁🄽🄸🄽🄶🅂: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT OR BALD JIWOO IS GONNA COME FOR YOU, NSFW content, combining two requests, edging, overstimulation, muse being a tease, squirting.

*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*

🅼🆄🆂🅴:

🅂🄵🅆:

He definitely chugs down 'respect women juice' every morning at 5 am religiously.

I mean, his mentor is a woman so she's bound to teach him how to treat a lady.

His attraction towards you is something he is aware of but refuses to acknowledge. Not wanting to tangle you up in his mess or just because he fear that from then on he won't ever be able to keep a straight face in front of you.

But his mentor, Supri Baster obviously catches onto what he's hiding.

It's not obvious. The signs are so small. Like the little quirk at the corner of his lips wherever he catches sight of you. The little momentary pause in whatever he's doing as you walk by. The way he seems to talk a little more than necessary whenever conversing with you. The way he's a little distracted whenever you're around.

They're little signs. Almost invisible but as his mentor, nothing can go unnoticed by her.

She makes sure to give him a little talk. Nudging him to actually make a move instead of following after you like some lovesick puppy.

So treat her with respect and treat her well.

Anyway now to the established relationship part.

He's the finest gentleman in all the lands.

If there's anything bothering you, he's ready to help but also knows when to back off and let you fight your own battles.

He's just the right amount of protective. Always talking note of your safety. Asking you if that person's actions or comments are genuinely bothering you and if you want him to do something about it.

Of course he's sheathing in anger, infuriated and over come with a desire to crush their skulls in. But what matters to him more, is what you want. You're the one being subjected to their torment after all, so it's only up to you to decide.

You get the point. He respects your choices and decisions no matter if he thinks you're being too merciful. He will make suggestions but that's as far as he'll go.

Although if said decision involves your safety, that respect for your wishes partially gets thrown out the window. He loves you and wants to live. Is that so hard to understand? He'll cry and beg on his knees if that's what if takes for you to understand.

He's an ogle-r. He stares when you apply lipstick/lip balm to your lips, watches intently as you smack your lips together and then starts to feel dizzy cause you're literally so fucking pretty.

The best way to apply chapstick in his opinion, is by kissing you.

He's so sweet it's literally making your teeth rot.

He gives you compliments a lot on the daily.

His love language mostly consists of words of affirmation and acts of service.

He always keeps his words. If he promises something to you, it's going to happen no matter how unrealistic or bizarrely impossible it might sound.

And if you do the same, prove through your actions that you do care about him and keep your word, he'll be head over heels for you. ꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*)♡

He's also a copycat. Falling under the common phenomenon among couples. He copies your unique phrases, your walking speed, your music taste etc.

One thing he's especially mindful of is to always walk behind or beside you, never ahead of you as this always helps him keep an eye of you.

Dates with him consist of a healthy balance of shopping sprees, fine dining and domestic activities.

🄽🅂🄵🅆:

He gives off major service Dom vibes. But he's not boring! He doesn't just simply do whatever you ask for like a servent. Oh no no~

Remember, he's the one in control here. He's the one knuckle deep in your sweet cunny.

Be mindful of what you say to him.

If you're uptight, he's going to have a lot of fun breaking you.

He's going to make you utter every dirty desire in that sweet little heart of yours. Make you voice everything you want him to do to you. Every detail. How you want him to hold you. How you want him to sink his teeth into you like you're his prey. How you want him to shove another one of his fingers in. How you want him to fuck his fingers into you faster. How you can't take it anymore. How it's all too much for you. How you don't want him to stop.

He's evil in the way he stops just as you're tethering on the edge of falling apart, the coil in your lower tummy getting so tight that it's about to burst.

He's got the tongue of a serpent. Cooing at you, telling you that he'll let you come this time as he rubs in slow deliberate circles on your little twitching nub. You know he's lying and yet you fall for it every time.

He holds your cute little face in his hands as he licks your fat tears off your blushy cheeks, bullying his cock into your abused pussy as you keep sobbing and begging him to finally, to just please let you come.

And let you come he does. He doesn't stop until all you can remember is his name. Until you're babbling incoherent half sentences, cross-eyed and oh so pretty. He doesn't relent until you've drenched his torso, thighs and the sheets under you in your release.

*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*

𝙸 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝙼𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠.

𝙰𝚕𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.. . 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞. :)

[fountainpenguin]

Liveblog remarks from my FOP: A New Wish re-binge (Up to "Lost and Founder's Day" since that's the last one on Netflix right now).

Liveblog opinions under the cut. If you don't want to see personal opinions or spoiler-filled references to later episodes, this post may not be for you.

- Not a liveblog technically, but I was shocked and delighted to glimpse ChalkZone as I was navigating to watch this show. Also, apparently all the FOP seasons (including Season 0) are on Paramount, which surprises me because I thought they only had up to Season 3.

- Forgot one of Hazel's early lines is describing herself as "New car smell." That's so funny...

- I really like Hazel doubling down (to Cosmo and Wanda) about how hard she worked to not complain when her parents uprooted her life and moved her to Dimmadelphia. I'd love to explore more of her pre-Dimmadelphia life.

- ?? Why did it take me this long to realize when Hazel told Tony the ant that they were the second "ant tony" she knew, she was referring to Antony? <- Because of how she pauses, I've always thought she had an Aunt Tony.

- The wish punch cards puzzle me so much. Why is it a big deal that one wish is "on Cosmo and Wanda" instead of Hazel? It's not like they charge her money for wishes, so what's the implication?

- Why are there so many kids playing VR games in the cafeteria?

- "You can't make us test prep during lunch! Isn't that illegal or something?" - Crying...

- Principal Krentz is so funny. Just in general.

- Extremely concerned about Angela and Marcus knowing (I presume) that Hazel was hosting a sleepover, but never coming down to check on her.

Do... do they NOT know Hazel is having a sleepover? HAZEL??

- I think I said this on my first watch, but Hazel acting confident during her Broadway show and then turning shy when everyone claps for her is adorable.

- Stuart / Hannibal replying "Yes" to Hazel's question of whether their mom often throws away trash inside a giant rug... ???

- I love Jasmine's backpack design (It has a cute flower on it).

- Dev licking the fan blades of his au pair drone brings me so much concern. Why did he do that.

- Marcus putting hours of research into how to do his daughter's hair is my everything...

- Wanda and Cosmo sitting in the corner when Diana is talking to Hazel... Wanda's just reading a book... Girl, your godchild is getting harassed by talking hair.

I think Wanda's reading the same book Cosmo later pulls out during "Weird Science."

- Why did Marcus pin bows to his eyes.

- I think I said this in my first liveblog, but it cracks me up that Hazel's response to losing her hair was to admire her bald head and how low-maintenance it was.

- Ah, maybe "Trial & Hair-or" is supposed to be the 'Episode 13 when Cosmo is a horse,' which he references in "Battle of the Dimmsonian." I did go looking a while back, but I must have missed this one.

- Trev and Bev are so funny... The puppy squeaks they make when Diana is yelling at Hazel... Nerds.

- Shout-out to Cosmo in this series and the many books he has on him at any one time. Specifically, I'm referring to his physics book in "Weird Science" because I am a "Cosmo loves physics books" truther ("77 Secrets of the Fairly OddParents Revealed").

- How did I miss Kennueth blushing and acting evasive every time he mentions the fairy that visited him when he was inside the whale? Okay...

- At one point, I drafted a post about Prime Meridian and the parallels to Dev and Hazel... I might go dig that up. I have opinions about it...

- Does Dale know Dev owns a sword?

Alternatively, if it's not Dev's, do I dare ask what childcare service the au pairs are supposed to provide with that sword?

^ Face of a man who has some questions.

- I would love to know what's inside Hazel's closet considering she owns a wardrobe where she actually keeps her clothes. Be honest... Did your dad put a machine in there to protect you?

- I remembered Hazel owned copies of her same sweater and jeans, but somehow I missed that she has like 3 dozen of the same pair of shoes. Girl knows what she likes.

- I still think maybe Cosmo shouldn't be putting on a 10-year-old girl's clothes, but I respect the presumed innocence that led him to explore new fashion options.

- I don't think Dale can drive and that's why he lets the helicopters crash to the ground.

- Dale's "buy one-time use items from me to save the planet' presentation is horrific. How on earth did he sway people into buying from him? Fascianting.

- Do Tina Churner and Mayor Teddy Bear share a voice actor?

They do not :(

- ???? The Pe-Az voices are changed in the Netflix version from the one I first watched. Major whiplash.

There were minor details in the early episodes I didn't remember on my original watch, and I wonder if anything else changed. Probably not because that would be a lot of work, but who knows.

- I still think it's clever that most kids show off the Dimmadome logo on their phones, but Hazel has a ladybug phone case that hides hers. She doesn't care to flaunt the branding.

- I say this knowing full-well that taking over Fairy World and removing pizza from the universe are different levels of life endangerment, but something something, Guzman announcing that Dev "doing the right thing in the end" counted as kindness in "Peace of Pizza" vs. Wanda in the finale making a point to emphasize how little "goodness" Dev has in him despite him doing the right thing in the end.

Something something, Wanda turning on Dev for endangering her bio son, but she was happy to let Timmy spend seasons romantically pursuing a girl who blatantly tried to murder him and cut him into pieces... Hey, Wanda, can I ask about that?

I'm glad the danger senses are tingling, and I support that, but these really are two different-tone shows, huh? Certain aspects are so wild to compare...

It's interesting to rewatch some episodes and remember all the foreshadowing I thought I saw (Ex: Hazel telling Kennueth he should "rewrite his story" and "make things right" with Duckworth [Dev]) and how "hard left" the finale shifts tones from what I thought we were being set up for. Fingers crossed for a Season 2... I really want to know where they wanted to go with that Kennueth & Duckworth forgiveness moment, because apparently it wasn't the finale.

- I'd love to learn more about Duckworth as a character, because it's very clear Dev relates to him on a deep level (even tearing up when Kennueth tells him that he forgives him for what he's done, and Dev whispering "Duckworth would have loved to hear that").

Including a scene like that in the finale would've been a cool callback to this moment, and I was totally expecting it given the other parallels between Dev, Hazel, and Prime Meridian, so I hope we get that in Season 2.

- So funny Dev's the only one in the know to truly recognize Kennueth, but he also, like... doesn't question why a manga character is in the real world. So curious. Did he think he was a cosplayer? Did his mind get hit with magic so he can recognize Kennueth, but not make the connection that says "Hey, this makes no sense" ?

Why didn't they cut the Project H plot from the final script if it drops off immediately after its reveal... It makes me so sad. It totally sets you up for expecting Dale to do villain stuff, but he doesn't :c I need that man to get told off for stalking a 10-year-old girl. Please Dale, I want you to screw around in Season 2... I need to see you face consequences. Dev is a minor, but you know better than that!!

My mind is brimming 24/7 with a montage of Dale trying to sneak close to Hazel and inviting her parents over for dinner or following her to restaurants and bake sales. I cannot express how much I want to do an animatic full of Dale hiding under tables like a weasel.

- I really hope I get to see the Pixies in Season 2, especially with how much set-up they did regarding Hazel's love for dull paperwork, plus Irep's model having a square head. I'd love to know how Hazel and H.P. interact. Yet another man I do not want around children! - It drives me wild how much set-up there was in one plot direction, including the original takeover plot intended to involve the Pixies - whose thing IS taking over Fairy World when the Anti-Fairies have never really been into that - and !! I didn't !! get !! to see it !! The finale's hard turn plot-wise drives me bananas, and I really want to see if a Season 2 makes me fall in love with it. - I wonder if the OG finale plan got to the script-writing phrase or if the Pixies' appearance was scrapped before it was written? I would LOVE to know how Dev behaves in that Pixie-themed finale (where Dale was supposed to be the big bad) and if that finale still would have felt out of place to me... H.P., my beloved... Save me, H.P. I want to love the finale, but if feels weird on so many levels... I think I'll like it someday in retrospect, but please let Season 2 offer me that chance. I don't wanna write the post-episode life myself- I want to know what THEIR plans were.

- Shout-out to Guzman assigning homework partners in a way that breaks up couples who went to the Under the Sea dance.

- Why does Cookie keep feeding Furry stuff he shouldn't eat, like cameras? Girl...

Alternatively, why does Furry keep eating her stuff? Boy...

- Cosmo showing up in the conference room with no shoes...

- Very sweet that Hazel refers to Puppet Hazel as "old friend" and greets it warmly.

- Honorable mention to Puppet Hazel's consistent it/its pronoun usage in all its episodes.

- Watching Hazel overly enthuse about Dev in "Lost and Founder's Day" hits harder after "Stuck In My Head" where she was overly paranoid about losing her friends... Tell us how you really feel.

- Dale and his magical invisible earpiece... I see why I didn't pick up on the fact that his "Eat a lizard" comment was directed to his phone on my first watch.

- The way Dev talks big about his dad vs. the way he deliberately un-machos his dad when we see his thoughts, my beloved... I had a whole post drafted about this, but I must have deleted it because I can't find it now.

- I like how when Dale walks offscreen, you can still hear the jingle of his spurs. I looked it up at one point and I'm pretty sure he shouldn't be wearing those in public if he's not riding a horse.

- Does Dale re-sell Vicky's bear toys?? I'm pretty sure the designs match, in which case it is INCREDIBLY funny that the au pairs - presumably programmed by Dale - make a special effort to call them out on as poorly constructed toys. I'm not sure they've done that for any other object.

Is Dale keeping tabs on Vicky even though we know Vicky wasn't keeping tabs on him? Horrifying! :)

- When the scene cuts to Dev inside Dale's command tent, he has popcorn, implying he wandered the festival before looping back to see his dad.

- I like how a Founder's Day booth is selling wolfish hats that look like the one worn by a Dimmadome ancestor.

- Dale being incredibly high in the air and still managing to set off a smoke bomb by hurling it down as hard as he could - near a crowd of people - fills me with terror.

- Lol, the shadow of Hazel's hat glows gold because it's covered in lights.

- Oh geez, the Dimmadome house isn't just shaped like Doug's hat, but it's also shaped like his face...... Dale, c'mon, man.

- So curious about the decorative pillows on Dev's bed. I assume the au pairs make it for him, but it's an interesting detail.

- This is already something I took into account for my Dev character study, but I can't stop thinking about how the only time we see Dev's room in a state less than perfect cleanliness and perfection, it's when there's books and of toys at the end of his bed he was trying to distract himself with before giving in to misery at the end of "Lost and Founder's Day..." It haunts me...

That is all.

[mosthatedlivingburden]

Dead Rising x Punch out au‼

So I found this au on my note app so decide to share it, warning the characters are probably OOC and my English can be bad since English is not my first language. Also no art since if I remember correctly I did do arts for this au but it was erased and gone forever.

Survivors

Little Mac and Doc Louis :

"It seems that Doc Louis been framed to be the cause of the apocalypse. Thankfully, Mac is there to help him prove his innocence and save everyone, but can he defends him from the others?"

Little Birdie :

"While in the middle of his training, he found himself surrounded by the zombies, thankfully Little Mac manages to help him. Little Birdie wants to help Mac clearing Doc's name as well, will he succeeds?"

Peter Champion (Yes that's what I used to call the green hair protagonist guy) :

"He was the first person that discovered the zombies in the town. He was resting in his house in his boxing retirement, but then greeted by the zombies breaking into his house. He manages to survive and become a part of Little Mac's group."

"Psychopaths"

Glass Joe :

"Joe found a new way to cope with his terrible losses in boxing. As soon Joe manages to defeat those zombies with his hands, he found satisfaction of defeating them even if they're incapable of fighting back. He was the first boxer Mac was trying to join them, but he's not acting like himself..."

Von Kaiser :

"The apocalypse really cause him to goes overboard. He locks himself in his house, places traps everywhere even inside the house, and uses all his weapons from his past military service. He'll attack everyone believing that everyone is either zombies or psychopaths that is going to get him."

Disco Kid :

"Disco Kid seems to be unaware about the apocalypse. He just sees his friends acting weird and decides to stay in the party house for a while. He does seems to be acting weird, he looks rather pale and have desires to eats people, maybe he's also unaware about the infection that got him..."

King Hippo :

"Even when his people turns into zombie, King Hippo still wants to protect them as for he was their king. He refuses to let other people hurts them despite it's for the best. The zombies do follow his orders, but probably not for long."

Piston Hondo :

"Hondo's been surviving by himself with his strength, speed, and the samurai that he used for training. Hondo doesn't seems to appreciate Doc Louis around, I mean, would you like to see someone that cause massive zombie apocalypse that kills hundred of people in front of you? If only he knows the truth."

Bear Hugger :

"After being left out by the group and witnessing Mr. Squirrel's death, Bear Hugger become more protective towards Ms. Bear. He already lost a lot of friends, he will not let anyone hurts Ms. Bear, but he seems taking this a little too far."

Great Tiger :

"Because he used his magic many times, his clones seems to had enough of him and decides to take control of his body. Now that the real Great Tiger is no longer be able to take control, the clones decides to take this apocalypse as the opportunity to take over the city. They can't die since they are clones, however if his body died..."

Don Flamenco :

"Poor Don, he hasn't been the same since the zombies killed Carmen, everyday feels like torture to him. You can tell that he doesn't like Doc to be around, but this is his chance to get his revenge towards him."

Aran Ryan :

"He seems to enjoying this apocalypse a lot, killing zombies in many way and all the time. He's the only one that isn't concerned about the zombies, and even happy that it happens. Nothing bad happens to him, he's just being himself."

Soda Popinski :

"Soda don't know how much longer he can stay without drinking any sodas during this apocalypse. It's driving him crazy, he desperately looking for any sodas and he wasn't so friendly to the survivors either."

Bald bull :

"He manages to survive the zombie apocalypse and find himself a hiding place, unfortunately for the survivors, their hiding place just happens to be the same as his. Bald Bull already have bad relationship with Doc from their past, but now he doesn't even want to talk to him knowing "the problem" he caused."

Super Macho Man :

"The apocalypse happens in the middle of him shooting the best movie he'll ever be in. Despite that, he insisted to continue the shooting, he's not letting his staffs go until they finished making the movie. Seeing Doc around him makes him mad, but it's also a good opportunity to become everyone's hero."

Mr. Sandman :

"Through all the adventures the survivors have been, it seems someone been following them for so long. That person is no other than Mr. Sandman himself. He have only 1 goal for now, and that is to make sure Doc faces his consequences of "his actions".

Also, I think I was in the middle of writing Pizza Pasta so I assume that I was gonna add everyone but then give up. Chat, should I continue this?

[gum-iie]

“what part of immortal do you not understand?”

[rebeccathenaturalist]

California agencies working to protect critically endangered condors are on high alert after 20 recent deaths in northern Arizona, wildlife officials said last week.

A highly pathogenic avian influenza that has infected domestic and wild birds across the country has been confirmed as the cause of death for California condors in in the Arizona-Utah flock. By April 17, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service reported 20 condors had died. So far, tests confirmed 10 of those birds were positive for the avian flu.

The virus had not been detected in condor populations in Ventura County or other parts of California and Baja as of late this week. But agencies monitoring those flocks were preparing emergency actions in case that changes, said Ashleigh Blackford, the federal agency’s California condor coordinator.

“Our concern is definitely heightened in California,” Blackford said.

More populations, more protection

Agencies have worked for decades to help the species recover. The largest flying land bird in North America — known for its bald head and black feathers — had all but disappeared in the wild by the early 1980s. 

The population dropped to just 22 birds in the wild in 1982. Five years later, all remaining wild condors were placed in a captive breeding program to save the species from extinction.

By the end of last year, 347 condors lived in the wild – 183 in California and 116 in the Arizona-Utah region. 

Supporting separate populations in different areas was part of the plan to help the species overcome any single event such as a virus outbreak or wildfire. The more populations and the more birds increases the odds of survival, Blackford said.

The condors also continue to rely on captive-bred birds being released into the wild.

Virus can be fatal

The avian influenza can spread quickly and appears to be almost 100% fatal for some species. But scientists didn’t know until the recent outbreak how infected condors would fare.

“Now, we know that answer, and it is an unfortunate answer," Blackford said.

But some condors do appear to be recovering. Eight sick condors were captured in Arizona and brought to a facility for treatment. Of those, four died and four others are still receiving care and showing signs of improvement, wildlife officials said.

A setback for Arizona flock

The 20 recent deaths account for around 17% of the Arizona-Utah flock. That's four times the number of deaths in the region last year.

"That’s a substantial setback for this flock," Blackford said. "But it is not insurmountable."

In all of last year, the agency reported 20 condor deaths, most of them in California. Lead poisoning is consistently the leading the cause of death and continues to be the biggest concern for agencies working to protect the species.

The birds feed on carcasses containing bullet fragments, so trying to get folks to use other types of ammunition continues to be a priority, wildlife officials said. Lead poisoning not only can be fatal but also can suppress the immune system, increasing the condors risk from other illnesses.

"If we were not losing birds to lead, then our population would be stronger," Blackford said. "It would be more robust, and we would have healthier birds."

How to help

While the risk to the public's health is low, officials said human infections can happen and the general public should avoid handling wild birds. State and federal agencies recommended the following tips.

Report dead birds using the state's mortality reporting system to help officials monitor the outbreak at wildlife.ca.gov/Living-with-Wildlife.

If you see condors, observe from a distance. Stress can be harmful to birds exhibiting symptoms of illness.

Keep your family, including pets, a safe distance away from wildlife. Do not feed, handle or approach sick or dead animals or their droppings.

Prevent contact of domestic or captive birds with wild birds. 

Find more information about the avian influenza: cdfa.ca.gov/ahfss/Animal_Health/Avian_Influenza.html, aphis.usda.gov/aphis/ourfocus/animalhealth/animal-disease-information.

[transformation4life]

Dungeons and Jocks

Suggested by: @sivfenrir

Gregory slammed another book down on his apartment table. It was another book for his upcoming DND campaign with his friend Louis. It was quite heavy for his scrawny body but he somehow managed to carry it all the way from the library. He was going to be a wizard artificer for the campaign over discord call and wanted to learn as much as he could before properly getting into it. Gregory opened the book and began to look through the pages. The nerd he is absorbed all the information quite quickly and before long landed on a very peculiar page... "Make what you wish come true! A spell of a lifetime for your campaign... Huh..." Gregory was very intrigued.

A spell to make what you wish come true is quite a bold claim from a book from a random library and a nerd who was quite a nerd. "Alright I'll guess I'll try this totally real spell!" Gregory didn't believe it would work so he recited the spell with a hint of sarcasm. "drhs drhs drhs drhs drhs ivzo ivzo ivzo ivzo!!" Gregory chanted the spell right then and there. "Now let's see if this worked... I am rich!" "..." "Haha... as I thought," Gregory was unphased, but just as he was about to go to the next page a notif popped up on his nearby phone. Louis: Hey dude, time for our DND session hop on discord! It was Louis!

Gregory: Alright hopping on now! Gregory quickly made his way to his room where his computer was located and hopped on call. "Yo Louis wassup?" "Oh... hey... I'm... okay.." Louis had a melancholy tone to his voice. "Is... something wrong dude?" "Yea... mind if I vent before the session?"

"Oh, sure what is it?" "It's just these guys that were bullying me..." Gregory felt a chill in his spine.

"P-People were bullying you??" "Yea..."

"What were they? Who were they?" "They were these... high school jocks. Large ones t-too. B-Based on their size they easily went to the gym everyday," Gregory felt more tingles. Gregory's body was beginning to change. Gregory began to gain an extreme growth in muscle like he worked at the gym everyday because well he did. Massive pecs, big biceps, and meaty thighs were some of his greatest features. Gregory's changes didn't stop though as his mind became warped and his past began to change. Instead of being a nerd he was always a jock. Bullying all the little guys More obsessed with muscle than school or anything else. That's when reality snapped back to the new jock Gregory. "H-Huh? What am I doing here? Where's my bros??? And why is this shirt so tight?" The new gregory looked around his room and saw all sorts of nerdy shit that repulsed him. How did he get here and where are his bros??? Louis didn't notice the change in Gregory's behavior and kept going. "A-And I think one of them was bald??? How much steroids did that they take??" And in one fell swoop all of Gregory's hair fell off leaving him completely bald. "I'm pretty sure all they wore was tank-tops with how cocky and self-obsessed they were..." Gregory's shirt began to remold itself into a gym tank-top and Gregory's mind suddenly become self-obsessed, immediately giving his left bicep a kiss.

"At least i got you with me!"

Louis continued on.

"They were total jerks. They piss me off just thinking about it!" Gregory stopped loving himself immediately. He recognized who was speaking. It was Louis the Louiser! Why was he talking to a twink ass on some messaging service. He'd rather beat him up directly than on some app. Gregory was ready to destroy the computer but then... "I wish they were like you, my best friend... kind, nice, nerdy like me." Gregory's mind changing again. He was still a bit of a jock but still spent time to nerd out with Louis and would protect him with his massive size and play DND all the time too!

Gregory paused right before he was about to punch screen as his anger dissipated into a cocky grin.

"Right you are, you're glad to have a friend like me haha!" Gregory's new voice gave a hearty laugh "Oh wow Gregory, your voice sounds different than I last remember..." Louis asked in a shocked tone.

"Whatcha talking about? Always been sounding like this ever since I took the steroids remember. I just had to get PUMPED! GRAHH!" Gregory did a flex with a grunt making Louis jump in his seat on the other end.

"W-Who are you and what you have done with Gregory?" "Come on bro it's me Louis. Your good old pal. We play DND remember?" Gregory turned on his webcam.

"See? It's me! Don't you want to give my bicep a kiss like old times?"

"W-Who is this?! You're not Gregory you're more like a Greg!" Gregory or rather Greg paused for a moment before smirking. "Yeah you're right! Sorry 'bout that. My name is Greg! But come on bro don't remember your lovable nerdy big guy best friend?" Greg flexed again.

"I-I'm still not convinced... I'm going to your house in person...." Louis immediately left the call before Greg could even say "See you later bro,"

Louis arrived to Greg's apartment and knocked on the door expecting the same twink he's known since elementary to open it but nope... it was "Greg" "Hey bro! Good to see you!"

"How did you- When did you-" Louis was in a gay panic.

"Lots of hardwork and steroids bro. Remember. Come on let's talk on the bro-couch!" "W-When did you take your shirt off?"

"Took if off before you got here bro. Needed to let my muscles breathe you know?" "U-Um,,, o-okay,,," Louis's words were barely legible

"Anyways bro let's go to the bro-couch pronto. We can talk like we always do. As bros!" Greg turned around not a moment sooner abandoning his shorts leaving him in just his underwear.

Louis cautiously entered the apartment. It looked about the same as he last saw it but there was a lot more... bodybuilder. There was still all those awards from math bowls but there was also some trophies from competitions. Louis continued to look around while Greg grabbed a huge can of Whey Protein before sitting on the bro-couch. "Want some?"

"N-No thanks..." Louis sheepishly declined

"Your loss," Greg opened up the container and ate the protein powder raw. "Delicious! Anyways whatcha wanna talk about bro?"

"Isn't it obvious? How you became THIS?" Louis blurted out.

"We were supposed to be doing a DND campaign but instead you became a meathead!" Greg's mind changed again.

"Yuppppppp that's meeeeeeeeeeee!" It looked like Greg had no thoughts and only thought of muscles as the math bowl trophies began to disappear. "But at the same time you do seem like my best friend..." Greg got hit with his old intelligence and stopped drooling.

"Yea bro! We'll always be bros! Now come on let's DND!"

"Okay fine, but put some clothes on!"

"Alright bro, alright!" With Greg walking off to get changed.

Greg returned in a tank top and some shorts flexing as he entered.

"Let's do this bro!" Louis almost forgot how hot Gregor- Greg was now.

"Alright alright, let's do this!" And so the buff nerd Greg and the twink nerd Louis did their campaign with Greg's character being a buff as hell Jock wizard artificer with magic and muscles on their side. It was a grand ol' time and Louis finally let this be the new Greg. Luckily for Louis the chant that Greg made was wearing off making this Greg permanent. It's a good life being a large and in charge jock and nerd.

[rayneisnotwet]

Well that isn’t what we expected is it? Trump winning the white house. In the salient words of Miss Juicy, ”What the hell we gon’ do now?”. Everyone has a different idea. “We need to engage in our communities!” , “I’m moving to Canada!”, “I’m doing c*ke in the bathroom!” some cry out. Others are disengaging from the zeitgeist, and with it, apparently, social media. But when people announce these reactionary ideas of theirs, it feels more like a child yelling that they hate their parents because they got their Xbox taken away than a serious strategy to avoid oppression. I get it though, everyone just wants a change now. The hottest new accessory is going to be a poorly thought out style choice. Short haircuts with clumsy dye jobs and a trashcan full of “I’m with her!” memorabilia is how everyone dealt with this last time. But what is really the answer to this feeling?

Well, you’re all in luck. Because as a Trans drag queen in the midwest with an enhanced ID, I have the insight into all these coping methods. I write this while smoking a skinny cig. sitting on a picnic table in my childhood backyard, on property that’s interest rates doubled so fiercely it convinced both my parents to vote Trump and pushed me farther left than I thought was possible before I just detransitioned into Mao Zedong. I doubt that social media breaks announced via Instagram story or a vote for a failed businessman turned reality star or a jar of Manic Panic Amazon Primed to your door is going to make any of us feel any better, or bring the dollar menu at the drive thru back.

The Canadian immigration website crashed in 2016 after Trump won the first time, and to be fair I can see why. Everytime I visit, a feeling of relaxation washes over me. Not just because it's where my boyfriend lives, but because it's a genuinely very easy place. People stroll instead of scurrying through the streets. Even in Toronto, the largest city. The food is fantastic as well. The cosmopolitan-and just like that, I started ordering them-attitudes lead to a huge mix of cultures that seem to coexist in a much more mixed fashion than the notoriously segregated US. Sure, there’s the french-speaking Quebecois, but every country has annoying people. The friendliness is no joke either (as long as it’s not a service worker), people ask you how you are as a question, rather than a greeting.

Canada isn’t a liberal wonderland though, despite what Justin Trudeau might lead you to believe. During my Toronto visit, I checked out Dundas Square, the canuck equivalent of Times Square (there was no one in knockoff Elmo costumes). As soon as we stepped out of the subway station it was awash with the sounds of protest. A First Nations demonstration played out, with people chanting “LET HIM GO!” while drum beats punctuated the cries. A woman sat on a speaker holding a microphone, telling the heart-wrenching story of her son who had been shot during a wellness check by police in the midst of a mental health crisis. I wanted to support and join in the chanting, but my boyfriend advised not to, warning me the TPS were just as brutal as any American police department, especially to Trans women. Moments later a man, middle aged, bald, and white, started hitting on me aggressively. My boyfriend immediately shielded me from him, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer and made a scene. Another man chimed in, “That's not a ‘She’ bro!”

We got out of there fast.

So while Canada may have a more charismatic leader on the world stage, and policies that protect its vulnerable communities slightly better than the US, it’s not a utopia for Queers. Least of all Trans women or Two Spirit people. The truth is there is no such thing as safe spaces. As long as tribalism is baked into our monkey brains, we will find something to point at and feel superior about over someone else. I’ve actually felt more disrespected in some majority white gay male bars than I have in dives in my hometown of bumfuck Jackson playing the UofM game on their tv. A word of advice to The Dolls, don’t underestimate the cruelty of men. 🚬 or not. That isn’t to say I hadn't found community in a lot of Queer parties.

I had started my post-election-pity-party at Necto in Ann Arbor for the finale of the UofM-student-powered drag competition reality show Runway Rumble. Michigan’s best and brightest new talent (and others) battling it out for the belt. Those of us that had been eliminated were doing a group number with the finalists and accepting awards. The energy was electric, people were excited to see each other and drinks were flowing. I can't speak for coke in the bathroom because I was in an outfit that didn't allow for bathroom visits, and frankly a bank account that didn't allow for coke.

With all the excitement and nerves in the air about who would clinch the win, it felt like our community’s political turmoil was dead and gone. Although, some people were drinking so much I thought they might go the same way.

Spoiler alert, Belladonna won the competition, and for me that was such a relief. To see a Trans woman win a competition like this and receive the recognition she so rightly deserved as a fixture in the Detroit scene was vindicating as a Doll Supremacist. Shoutout to you diva, you did that shit. Big shoutout also to one of the judges, Pineapple Honeydew, for finger-waving my look that night. I hugged Bella and joined in on the rest of the cast and crew who were inundating her with congratulations, and that's when I realized something. In this bar, on this stage, in THIS moment, Trump wasn’t president. He’ll never be president of Necto, or president of drag. This place, these people, were presidentless. This country may have elected him with the popular vote, but that didn’t matter here. His political success couldn’t take away Belladonna’s Drag excellence. Or Portia’s for creating the show. Or mine for leaving my mark on the show as Drama Diva and holder of the Golden Boot. No. Our community, its survival and ability to thrive, was entirely dependent on US, not THEM.

So yes, things will be much more difficult now. This will be a tough time for Trans kids, for immigrants, especially mexicans. A tough time for the elderly on social security, a battle for young mothers and young women trying NOT to become mothers. For blue collar workers in unions, for their families. Entire classes of people, communities, towns, families, they’ll be ripped apart. We’ve already seen how populism injected into right-wing politics can create the perfect siren’s song to attract members of our family, turning them into strangers. But at the end of the day, the days gotta end. Will we all take this lying down? Or with a smile on our faces, a tequila sunrise in one hand and our loved ones hand in the other? Our community, no, we protest and sing and dance and drink and dress up and be gay! Openly! Loudly! Until they realize we really aren’t going anywhere.